


Oversight - The Rise

by Johnny_Congaman



Series: The Oversight Mirror Universe [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Break Up, Drama, Ensemble Cast, F/F, Gen, Mirror Universe, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tragedy, Widowmercy - Freeform, mercymaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 150,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnny_Congaman/pseuds/Johnny_Congaman
Summary: In a world where the sun shines just a little less brighter on the Earth, an organization known as Oversight keeps tight rein over war-torn nations. Extremism, paranoia and hatred run high on all sides- but these are simple corruptions of nobler purposes. And even in these dark times, there are those who will discover, or rediscover, the humanity they thought they had to sacrifice.





	1. British Spring Of Our Discontent, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Buttons15, whose medical help was (and odds are, will continue to be) extremely- well, helpful! Seriously, this fic wouldn't be here if it weren't for them! Check out their Overwatch works below:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttons15/pseuds/Buttons15/works?fandom_id=3406514
> 
> Hopefully, even if you weren't inspired to write your own stuff, you might actually learn some neat medical facts!

April 27th, 2068  
Workers' Row, Union of Britain

Trying to ignore the slight accent of burnt flesh wafting among the more general smell of burning wood and other materials, Jesse McCree sunk deeper into the shadows around the besieged district. A red Union of Britain flag flew past him, its torn fabric still emblazoned with the Union Jack and golden wreath of the Communist nation. The fires plaguing the area helped him, strangely enough, by giving more shadows to exploit. 

Even so, he didn't see any way through the defences the omnics had erected around the area: their anti-air and anti-armour defences were solid enough to repel anything short of a full-scale nuclear attack, while dark shapes hidden in the smoke told him all he needed to know about how regularly the omnics patrolled, as well as gave a rough tally of their numbers. He let out a low whistle. For all accounts and purposes, it was an unassailable fortress.

At least, to conventional tactics and soldiers. Oversight, however, was anything but on both counts.

He reached for his comms, a small headset stuck in one ear. “HQ, I've got good news and bad news.” he said. “I'm guessing you'll want the bad first.”

“You guessed right,” his contact replied. Even though it was made more tinny thanks to both the signal's distance and encryption, Strike Commander Gabriel Reyes's deep, gruff voice was unmistakeable.

“The clockworks have this place locked up nice and tight,” McCree said. “I know the Party Chairman wants to send in the troops, but all he'd be doing is marching his boys and girls into a grinder. Don't get me wrong, the Brits'd win, but they wouldn't be able to afford it.” He straightened up a little in the darkness, dislodging a little soot onto his hat. “Good news is I think I've got a handle on their patrol patterns.” He snorted- of course machines would have patterns. “I reckon a small group of people might be able to get in and get the VIPs out, maybe raise a little hell while they were at it.”

He grinned. “And I reckon you've got someone in mind.”

A low beeping issuing from his comms interrupted his report. At the same time, one of the large anti-armour cannons began to swing in his direction, and the sound of metallic footsteps began to come from the smoke, growing louder by the moment. 

“I also reckon our I.T. department needs to work on their encryption skills,” McCree said, before cutting the transmission. Despite the threat he was facing, McCree smiled as he felt his heart beat faster. Behind him, he heard Big Ben strike the first of noon's bells.

* * * * *

Gabriel Reyes sighed as the transmission cut, the animated wavelength visualizer above the command table blinking out of existence, the table's mirrored desk showing Gabriel's seated form as well as those of his two standing companions. “Well, there's our answer, then,” he said, scowling as he steepled his hands and rested his chin upon them. “Seems like Talon Division is about to play with its new toys sooner than expected.”

To his left, Ana Amari cleared her throat before speaking. It wasn't out of respect, Gabriel knew- neither of them needed such small gestures. “Isn't this what you wanted, Gabriel? Talon Division is your baby, after all.”

Gabriel nodded, though it was slow and reluctant. “It is. I just thought I would have had more time. You know how much Japan cost us.”

The man to Gabriel's right stirred. “What choice do we have?” he said. Though his voice was even, reasonable, Gabriel couldn't help but wonder if that was how Jack actually felt, or if he was still harbouring a grudge over the fact that Oversight was led by Commander Reyes instead of Commander Morrison. “Downing Street's been blowing up the phone- the Party Chairman's furious that we've asked him to pull his troops back. He's threatened to take things to the United Nations if we don't act soon.”

Gabriel didn't respond at first, instead calling up a screen of data. “Damn it, they caught us off guard,” he said as his eyes ran over news reports and data entries, sighing with disgust. “We've just fought a war with them, and then we take our eyes off the ball before the ink on the peace treaties had run dry,” he added, shaking his head. “Of course this damned uprising's happened. Why wouldn't terrorists take advantage of some breathing room?”

Ana shook her head. “I wouldn't call them terrorists,” she said. “Extremists, yes, but not terrorists. Especially after how the British treated them from even before the war.” She shook her head again as she looked at the data files. “You'd think a Communist government would at least try make a token effort to take care of its workers, regardless of what they were made of.”

“Call them what you want,” Jack said, “the fact is that they're causing a hell of a lot of trouble in a populated area owned by one of our major allies, and embarrassing Oversight in the eyes of that ally. Especially since this is exactly the kind of thing we were made to deal with.” 

He leaned forward and fixed Gabriel with a stern stare. “Talon Division has no choice but to undertake a baptism of fire, Gabriel, and you know it. I know you remember as well as I do how hard it was for Director Petras to keep Talon Division funded after Japan, as well as answer the questions the UN committee's asking. We need to show them results,” he said, punctuating the last word with a jab at the table. “Even if we fail, we'd be able to tell them something, at least. Give them some data, tell 'em where we're gonna improve.” A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth, though it didn't go as far as his eyes. “Or at least, you'd be able to tell them- after all, you're the one with the statue.”

Oddly enough, Gabriel found himself relaxing a little, now that Jack had gotten his little jibe out of his system. Some part of him knew that things would come to a head in the future, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, he had other matters to deal with, which was why shortly after he had adjourned the meeting with Ana and Jack, he found himself entering the base's Experimental Combat Laboratory.

“Winston,” he said, nodding to the bespectacled gorilla at one end of the lab, before turning his gaze to the blonde woman at the other. “Dr. Lacroix. You and Gérard doing well?”

The woman gave him a small smile before responding. “We're doing just fine, Commander,” she said. “I've noticed you're being formal again- that's my job. Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It's the Chairman, Angela,” Gabriel sighed, shaking his head for a moment before walking to the observation window to look down on the subjects beyond where two of Talon Division's latest recruits were duelling in a simulated town made of hard light. “He's... a little insistent about wanting us to act.” He turned back to Dr. Angela Lacroix with a wan grin. “And by that, I mean at the rate he's going it's pretty good odds that he'd send his troops in here first before Worker's Row.” He turned back to the combat chamber. “Which is why I need a status report. Winston, you first- how's your girl doing?”

The gorilla consulted his noted. “Lena's condition is still quite the enigma, but I believe I have stabilized her condition down to an acceptable level.” He adjusted his glasses. “While I would advise more basic combat training, she has adapted to her more unconventional abilities quite well.” He pointed below. “Observe.”

Gabriel looked at where Winston was pointing. A slight, young girl wearing a strange harness over her jumpsuit had ducked behind some simulated fallen masonry. It put Gabriel in mind of the classified holos the British government had given to Oversight, and he wondered if Winston had some inkling that his protegé would be sent into combat sooner than expected. Her as-yet unseen assailant was firing shot after shot into the wall, but the simulated bullets were punching through. Even so, Gabriel shook his head a little- without a clear shot, it was just wasting time and ammunition, even if the target was pinned down.

Suddenly, the girl blurred and disappeared, reappearing several yards away in the blink of an eye- behind another fallen holowall. “Impressive,” Gabriel said, as she began sneaking around and towards the high ground her attacker was firing from. “I hope it's not AI-controlled?” Gabriel didn't think Winston would be so foolish as to allow an AI control over such a sophisticated system- as marginally grateful as Gabriel was for the Omnic War giving him a bigger paycheck at Oversight, he didn't really need a third car.

“Fear not,” Winston said with some quiet pride. “It's entirely voluntary, though she needs a buildup of chronal particles before she is able to do so.”

Gabriel nodded. “And your subject, Angela?” he asked, turning to the woman. 

He noticed her grimace a little, just for a moment, before she returned to the scientist and doctor he better knew her as. “I think we're about to see,” she said simply. “Amélie is more than capable, I assure you.”

Gabriel looked back. Angela's 'subject' was a woman in a tight catsuit whom Gabriel would have found incredibly attractive if it weren't for the blue, corpse-like pallor of her skin. She held a high-powered sniper rifle that she kept firing into the masonry the Brit had been hiding behind, and Gabriel wondered if there was something wrong with her. While he was no scientist, he had read the sporadic reports Angela had sent him, and he had read no mention of slowed reflexes or compulsive behaviou-

When the woman acted, it was with a speed and grace that actually made him jump back a little. The slowed-down footage he reviewed later confirmed his suspicions- she _had_ acted before the British girl had actually reached her, switching her rifle from sniper to assault mode and turning before the other girl had blinked into existence beside her. Even as Lena ducked behind cover, cursing all the while, the woman Angela had called Amélie fired a grappling hook into the test chamber's ceiling and flew into the gantry.

“Wha- Oi!” Lena cried out in frustration as she ducked behind cover. The hard light 'bullets' were non-lethal, but they still stung. “You can't do that!” she said, shaking her fist at the ceiling, where a smug Amélie was looking down on her, before turning to the observation window. “She can't do that, can she?”

Angela was leaning towards a microphone mounted near the window when Gabriel stopped her. “Miss... Oxton, was it? That your name?” he said, recalling the name from Winston's own reports. “In case you've forgotten, no battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy, and neither does anyone who tries following it to the letter. Conditions will change, and if you're not able to deal with that, I'm sure Dr. Lacroix- either or both of them- will find you a facility where you can spend the rest of your life in peace and quiet.”

Ignoring the short glare Angela gave him- he had made her and her husband the bad guys for a moment, after all- Gabriel went on. “And you up there in the rafters- you're Amélie Guillard, correct? Before you let yourself get too proud, I want you to remember something- you've taught a lesson to Lena today. Judging by how easily you beat her, she hasn't taught you anything. I say again- she's learned something about you that she obviously wasn't expecting, while your Lena playbook's still filled with the same old tricks. That's the kind of attitude that leads people to making battle plans and following them.”

Once he was sure that the second woman was properly chastised, he continued. “Now, you two suit up and meet me in my office in ten. Dismissed.” To emphasize the point, he cut the mic, glaring sternly at Talon Division's two newest operatives until they left the chamber, whereupon he groaned. “Damn it, if only the omnics had held back a few more months- hell, maybe even just one...”

“No disagreement here, Commander,” Angela said. “But we- we have to work with what and whom we're given,” she said.

“I'm sensing some reluctance here, Angela,” Gabriel said.

Angela shook her head. “Just musing, sir. It's nothing to worry about.”

The sound of a throat being cleared drew their attention to Winston. “Angela has misgivings about Amélie's current state,” he said. “I'm sorry, Doctor,” he said, and Gabriel turned briefly to see the furious glare she was giving the gorilla. “But as your colleague I could see that your efficiency was being compromised, and as your friend I could not stand by while you were so troubled.”

“Compromised?” Gabriel asked. “How?”

“She has often come into the lab tired,” Winston replied. “In talks with her, I gathered that it might have something to do with her subject's condition.”

“It's nothing to really worry about,” Angela said hastily. “I readily admit that I think my husband's choice of operative, as well as the procedure by which we recruited her to be... a little more unorthodox than what I'm used to,” she admitted. Gabriel continued glaring at her, and she sighed in defeat. “That said, if I have been losing sleep, it's more due to the fact that like Miss Oxton, Amélie is an enigma- and it worries me.”

One of Gabriel's eyebrows rose. “An enigma? I'll admit I'm not a scientist, but weren't you the one who made her like this?” His eyes narrowed. “I know you two knew each other before her... recruitment, but I need you to be objective on this.”

“First, I am not solely responsible for making her like this, and second, she was only friends with Gérard- I barely knew her,” Angela replied, offended, and she took a short breath before continuing. “My expertise extends only as far as her physical alterations,” Angela said, her tones becoming firmer with the weight of experience shoring them up. “I have no doubts about how well I have... have optimized her biological systems,” she said, her lips thinning as she pressed them together. “She doesn't need to eat save for regular nutrient injections, her body heat has been lowered to the point where she is virtually invisible to infrared scans, and her agility is for lack of a better word, superhuman. Olympian, at the very least.”

“Very nice, but I'm sensing a downside coming up, Doctor,” Gabriel said.

Angela nodded. “I wouldn't call it a downside, per se, at least not until I know more. Her greatest asset is also what worries me, Commander. You see, she's emotionally detached, even more so than one would expect considering what she went through before coming to Oversight. And it's definitely psychological- structurally, her brain's fine. At first, I thought it might have been PTSD, but I've consulted several of my colleagues outside Oversight-”

“You didn't tell them anything, I hope?”

Angela shook her head. “I told them I was worried about a friend,” she said, waving his interruption away. “In any case, her most likely psychological prognosis is that she's suffering from severe DPD- Depersonalization Disorder,” she said, seeing the blank look Gabriel gave her. “Our brains have components called mirror neurons, which allow us to simulate how someone else might feel- it's where empathy comes from, allowing us to step into the shoes of another person among other things. DPD heightens that, especially if a sufferer was or is very empathetic. In one famous example, a high-empathy DPD patient managed to feel the pain of a tree being cut down,” she said.

Gabriel rubbed the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes shut. “Great, so you're telling me we have a Section 8 on our hands. Is there a reason you hadn't mentioned this before, Angela? You're her doctor, shouldn't you have known about this beforehand?” 

“First, It's something I've just had confirmed- I was planning to include it in the next report I sent you,” she said. “Second, while I'm her doctor, Gérard's her psychologist- and believe me, I do plan to take up this matter with him. Finally, from a purely military perspective her particular manifestation of DPD might actually help. There is a reason Gérard had her transported here after the attack in Paris instead of having her stay in a local hospital like the others who were with her.”

“Which is?”

“She was- is an amazingly empathic person, according to Gérard,” Angela said. “Combined with her DPD, it might make her practically precognitive, so long as she has some knowledge of her target. You saw how she reacted when she was flanked just now. Those weren't her reflexes helping her dodge- she _knew_ Lena would ambush her from that angle.”

From behind them, Winston cleared his throat again. “And she manipulated poor Lena quite well, repeatedly firing into the wall as she did,” he said. “Pseudo-precognitive abilities or not, I doubt Miss Guillard would have prevailed if Lena was a little more careful and unburdened by overconfidence.”

Gabriel took a short breath, his arms folded and his eyes locked in concentration for a moment. “All right,” he sighed. “Oversight can work with this- it's not like more basic training would let them really get a hang of what they could do.”

“Gabriel,” Angela began, but Gabriel held up his hand to stop her.

“I know what you're going to say, Angela, and the answer is no, I can't hold it off,” he said. “We need to get Workers' Row over with as soon as possible and both Amélie and Lena will be on that VTOL when it lifts off. I wouldn't make an exception for your subject even if I wanted to. Besides,” he said, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “They wouldn't be sent in alone. McCree'll be there after all,” he said, giving her no hint about the cowboy's last transmission. “Torbjorn too- who knows what the omnics have got in store. I don't, and I want to be ready. Reinhardt will also be accompanying the Union's forces once they go in. What, did you think I'd be sending the strike team alone? The Chairman wants to show off for the cameras, I'll give him exactly what he wants,” he said, unable (and somewhat unwilling) to let his grin grow wider, unaware of how predatory it made him look.

* * * * *

Angela knocked a few times on the metal door. She supposed she could simply hold her hand to the pad next to the door, and have the automated chime alert the room's occupant, but she always thought the overly-cheery tones to be irritating. Better to simply knock, in her opinion. Even so, when she didn't receive a response at first, she moved to activate the chime anyway when the door slid open. “Enter,” Amélie said from inside the room.

Angela did so, and was met with the sight of Amélie sitting down on her bed- by the looks of it, she was in the middle of tweaking her gun. Angela had to admit, she was impressed- Amélie had been on the base only two months, and two weeks of that had been spent in a medically-induced coma while Angela worked on her. To see an ex-interpretive dancer make precise adjustments to a high-powered multipurpose rifle was surreal, to say the least.

And now that she knew just how soon she would be sent into battle, surprisingly distressing. “Amélie,” Angela said, holding up the medical pack she had brought with her. “Do you have a minute?”

“Do I have a choice?” Amélie asked in return. Though her tones were calm, it nevertheless opened a small hole in Angela's gut. She dismissed it quickly, though, and pulled up a chair to sit beside the assassin. “Is there a reason for your visit, Dr. Lacroix?”

Angela nodded. “Gabr- Commander Reyes has informed me that he will be sending you on a mission to Britain soon,” she said, taking out a brace of syringes from her pack. “I want to make sure you're properly prepared for whatever you might need to do once you get there. At the very least, you'll need a nutrient injection and a new set of nanomachines. It should be long enough from your last dose that they would have started to degenerate already, in any case.”

“You think I need some help, Doctor?” Amélie asked, giving Angela a smile that didn't quite reach up to her eyes. It reminded Angela of how Jack would sometimes talk about Gabriel.

Angela started a bit, but considering what she now knew about Amélie, it wasn't surprising that she had picked up on Angela's anxiety. “I won't deny that as your doctor, I have some concerns about the mission, especially considering how little time you have had to train,” she began. “But I do agree somewhat with Commander Reyes's belief that conventional training methods wouldn't do much more for you, and developing more helpful, focused routines would need actual battlefield data to be effective.”

“So either way, I am to remain your guinea pig, then,” Amélie said, her face locking into an expressionless mask once more as she turned her attention back to her gun. “Oh well, it would be nice to see the sun again, at least.”

“I have to say, you seem to be taking this well,” Angela said after a short while, having found a vein and pressing the plunger in. “You're not worried?”

“Worried?” Amélie asked. “Not at all, though I know I should be,” she said, with a sudden bitter tone that took Angela aback. “You should be proud of your work on me,” she said. Involuntarily, Angela let in a sharp breath at the accusation, but before she could respond, Amélie continued. “And yet... you're not, are you? Not wholly,” she asked, and Angela looked up to find Amélie focusing on her. “Interesting,” the sniper said. Angela didn't quite know what to make of the appraising look Amélie gave her then.

“What do you mean?” Angela asked slowly, as she took another syringe out of her kit. It was quite disconcerting to have a patient who evidently knew something her doctor didn't. “Is something wrong, Amélie?”

Another smile spread Amélie's lips- and this time, it did reach her eyes. “Look at you. 'Is something wrong?' she asks,” Amélie said, turning aside as if to speak to an imaginary audience sitting in the upper corner of the room, before bringing her knowing gaze to bear on Angela once again. “Once again, you ask me a question you really need to ask yourself,” she said with quiet smugness. “How is your husband, by the way?”

“He's doing well,” Angela said, a little more calmly this time as she fell back on her old medical training. It was obvious Amélie wanted some reaction out of her with the sudden subject change- though a little voice inside her chided Angela for assuming that was a subject change in the first place. “I do think he should spend a little more time at home, but considering just how important Oversight is, and how much time I spend here myself, it would be a little hypocritical to want that,” she joked.

Angela pursed her lips before she went on. “If I may say so, you seem quite talkative today, Amélie,” she said, genuinely curious. The first few times she had visited Amélie outside of surgeries, she had done her best to engage her patient in conversation. Try as she might, however, the assassin was either unwilling to speak, or had kept her responses monosyllabic. After a while, Angela didn't really bother. 

“Perhaps I'm excited about leaving the base?” the blue-skinned woman replied, so calmly Angela almost didn't register the questioning tone in her voice. Angela also couldn't help but notice the inquisitive look in her eyes hadn't faded.

“I should hope so,” Angela replied, giving Amélie her last injection. It was obvious before to Angela that Gérard had not been entirely forthcoming with his work with Amélie- but finding out about how much he'd been withholding was a very unpleasant surprise. It was also equally obvious that if Amélie was excited about anything, it was the fact that Angela was unprepared about how little she knew about her patient. “You're not planning to escape, I hope?”

“Where would I go?” Amélie said, that same note of bitterness colouring her voice once more, and Angela suspected that the pain didn't come from the injection she was giving her. But judging by the way she tensed up slightly then, it was both involuntary and unwelcome.

“Good point,” Angela said, doing her best to pretend not to notice, and Amélie seemed to relax a bit as the doctor went on. “In any case, this will be your chance to impress Oversight Command. Do well enough, and I might be able to wrangle some extra privileges for you. I cannot make any solid promises, though,” she said, doing her best to seem relaxed while looking for any change in Amélie's disposition.

“I suppose that is the best I can hope for,” Amélie replied. “I doubt I'd be able to tan, so you don't have to worry about me craving more sun,” Amélie said. “But...” she trailed off, and Angela wasn't sure if she'd made progress with her. “Perhaps fewer psychiatric training sessions?”

“I... I might not be able to do that,” Angela began slowly, somewhat nonplussed- and disturbed- by the strange request. “I can certainly arrange your seeing a different counsellor, if it makes a difference. I was only half-joking when I said Gérard spends too much time away from home,” she said, giving Amélie as sincere a smile as she could manage, while being sure the French woman would pick up on its falsity in any event. 

Amélie fixed her with an unblinking stare for a few uncomfortable moments. Angela had seen her exhibit it in the observation chamber often enough, but to be in its direct path was another thing entirely. “Yes,” she finally said, looking away. “That would be acceptable,” she said. Angela nodded, and she was just about to pack up and leave when Amélie quietly said something she'd never have expected. “Thank you,” she said, almost spitting the words out.

Angela leaned back slightly. “You know, Amélie,” she said slowly. “I am your physician, when all's said and done,” she said. “If you really have any problems with your treatment, I could-”

Amélie's gaze fell back on her again, but this time it was all Angela could do to not tip over and fall down on the floor. The sheer hatred in the assassin's eyes was that strong. “ _Veuillez m'excuser, Madamoiselle Docteur_ ,” she said, the cold formality of her French only adding to the harshness of her tone as she snatched her hand away from Angela's, “but I think the time to play the good doctor has long since passed, don't you think? Don't try to lie to yourself, and certainly not to me- this attempt to change my psychiatrist is mutually beneficial, nothing more, nothing less.”

“I'm not sure what you m-” Angela began, when Amélie cut her off.

“I am not here to absolve the rest of your guilt, Frau Doktor,” Amélie said, practically snarling the German syllables. “There are times when I can pretend that what Oversight, what your husband has done to my mind never happened, times when I can close my eyes and pretend nothing has happened, but when I open them again, do you know what I see, Doctor Lacroix?” She clawed at her face. It wasn't deep enough to draw blood or leave a mark, but it didn't need to be. “ _This_ ,” she said with a whispered hiss. “ _Your_ work. _This_ I cannot hide from.”

She slumped back onto her bed, her eyes shut. “Leave me, Doctor,” she said after a few moments of Angela's stunned silence. Her voice was calm once again, but her lips, her eyes, both had tightened and narrowed. “I have a mission to prepare for.”

Angela swallowed, but she did as she was told, gathering her things and heading for the door. “I'm sorry, Amélie,” she said softly as she stood in front of the door, ready to press the 'open' button. “I wish things could have been different.” She waited for a reply, anything, but Amélie's silence was deafening.

And so it was that Angela found herself walking to Gérard's office soon after, a small pool of guilt growing in her gut. She had always trusted her husband since the day they met in the hallowed halls of the _Université Pierre et Marie Curie_. Her mind wandered for a moment, thoughts over whether it had been rebuilt after the Omnic War temporarily interrupting her train of thought. It was brought back on track again however, when she stood in front of her husband's office, only to have Lieutenant Commander Morrison almost slam the door in her face as he opened it. “Ah hell!” he said, stopping just in time. “Sorry about that, Doc.”

“It's not a problem, Jack,” she said with far more ease than she felt.

“Angela?” Gérard called out from within his office, and Angela heard the sound of his chair shifting as Jack looked back inside. A few scant moments later, Gérard poked his head out from behind the Lieutenant Commander. “Ah, mon cherie, it's so good to see you again,” he said warmly, easily sliding past Jack to embrace Angela. In the hallway she could see, Angela thought she saw one of the paralegals give her a jealous glance. Considering Gérard, with his neat black hair, brilliant emerald-green eyes and neatly groomed moustache was the epitome of 'tall, dark and handsome' combined with a healthy dash of the roguish television stars of the early 20th Century, she could certainly see why.

“Well then,” Jack said, grinning. “I guess I'll leave you two lovebirds to it. See you later, Gérard.”

“And you too, Jack,” Gérard said, giving Jack a nod before turning his attention back to Angela. “So, my dove,” he said as Jack walked away. “What brings you to my office? Business... or _pleasure?_ ” he said, his voice dropping several octaves with the last word.

“Business, you eternally silly man,” Angela laughed, gently pushing Gérard away. “Come, let's go into your office,” she said. “And yes, I'm still talking about business,” she said, as Gérard followed her inside and closed the door behind him. She drew a chair up to the front of his table, and patiently waited for him to take his own seat before she went on. “Planning something with Jack?”

Gérard gave her a light shrug. “More like planning for planning,” he said. “I must agree with our Commander- I also think the Chairman's making a mistake moving in so soon. Unfortunately, we are a UN agency, which means he is technically our boss. The best thing we can do is take as much advantage of the current situation as we can- might as well make a few needed changes to the Talon Division timetable.”

“That does have some bearing on what I'd like to discuss with you,” Angela said. “But I'd like to hear what you and Jack have come up with before I embarrass myself,” she added, smiling.

“Oh Angela, you know I make a fool of myself more often in an hour than you ever have since we got married, possibly since you were born,” Gérard laughed. “Honestly though, we haven't come up with much, and I suspect Jack was more interested in my coffee than discussing any actual plans,” he said, nodding towards a well-used coffee machine, in front of which stood two mugs. “Would you like some, by the way?” he asked. “I'm sure I have an unused mug around here somewhere...” he said, trailing off as he went looking in the cupboard near his desk.

Angela shook her head. “Maybe later,” she said, and Gérard gasped.

“ _Mon dieu_ ,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Who are you, and what have you done to my wife? Please, leave her alone! Take Commander Reyes instead!” he said, holding his arms out in mock pleading.

“You're incorrigible!” Angela laughed. “Come now, Gérard, enough stalling,” she said, lightly patting his outstretched hands, her chiding of him equally soft. “What have you menfolk been talking about behind your wife's back?”

“Ach, not only is she a shapeshifter, but a spy as well?” Gérard said, covering his face theatrically for a moment before returning to a more normal posture. “All right, all right,” he said, giving Angela what she recognized as his most roguish grin. “I suppose it can't hurt to tell you. Jack wants to expand the advanced training facility, and he wants me to co-sign his proposal to do so. We're thinking of asking Vishkar- you know, that company behind the Rio de Janeiro reconstruction?- to handle it, since they seem to be leading the way in hard-light tech. He's also thinking of taking charge of the training program, and shifting most of our main data collection on operative capabilities to focus on field missions.”

“You've told him no on those last two parts, yes?” Angela asked, trying to ignore the irrational sense of unease she felt. “We will always need data on Talon operatives, regardless of their mission status, after all. And Jack, well... he isn't the most fatherly figure around,” she said. “He's a military man through and through, and while that might be desirable in a common soldier, the kind of specialists we hope to have in Talon Division will require special training. I see you're disagreeing with me,” she said, seeing the look her husband was giving her.

“I wish I could say otherwise, if only to save me from having to sleep on the couch,” Gérard said. “But yes, on the whole I must admit I do agree with Jack's opinions, though I do believe he will need help ironing out the details. Have you read the latest budget reports yet?” he asked, and when Angela shook her head, he went on. “Director Petras can crow all he wants about how he's managed to increase our funding in the company newsletter, but to tell the truth, it's not by much- a fraction of a single percentage point. The fact of the matter is that more nations are turning to PMCs and their own national agencies to handle omnic-related affairs.”

“They'll get slaughtered!” Angela said, aghast.

Gérard nodded. “You can see that, I can see that, all of Oversight can see that, but people outside Oversight are running scared, and the Workers' Row attack will only amplify those fears. Oversight will have to be more overt and grab more attention if people are to retain any confidence in is. That means more operatives out in the field, and not just from Talon Division.” 

He leaned in closer, and took his wife's hands in his own. “It is nowhere near the best solution, I know,” he said, “only the most optimal one we can take. Hopefully it won't last long. Besides,” he said, with a ghost of a smile, “like I said, nothing is really set in stone yet, and while we don't really have a lot of time, there is still a window of opportunity to change his mind on certain details.”

“You said 'on certain details',” Angela said. “That seems to imply most of this is set in stone already.”

Gérard shrugged again. “Jack certainly seemed sure of selling his plan to the Commander. Considering how much history they have together, I wouldn't be surprised if he was. Like all things, we'll deal with that problem when it comes.”

Angela nodded. “Truth be told, we already have a problem,” she said. “It's about Amélie.”

“Oh? Is something wrong?”

“I was hoping you'd tell me,” Angela said. She had wondered how she was going to broach the subject ever since she left Amélie's room, but even now, she found herself pausing momentarily. In the end, she decided to be blunt. “Gérard, why didn't you tell me she has DPD? And don't tell me you didn't know- if anyone on Earth could tell, it was you,” she said quietly. She hoped against hope that Gérard would have an answer- never mind one that would satisfy her, but one that she could at least live with.

Gérard opened and closed his mouth a few times, then gave up, sighing in defeat. “I... I'm sorry, Angela,” he said. “You're right, on all counts,” he said. “I should have told you she was developing DPD, I should have done something to help her,” he said, rubbing his forehead.. “But... oh, Angela, you should have seen her development,” he said wistfully. “How she was able to read someone from the slightest visual cues. A twitch of a facial muscle, the words we so carelessly use, a person's stance- the fMRI and EEG scans were a thing to behold, Angela,” he said, his eyes shining with the glint of the visionary.

And Angela felt a little sick, because she knew she had that glint in her eyes when she operated on Amélie. 

It was hard at first, to be sure. But with every incision, every injection of nanomachines- it was strangely liberating for her to deem certain organs or bodily systems 'redundant'. It was so easy to think of her butcher's work as something greater, especially since Amélie always arrived in her surgery barely conscious... “Gérard, what drugs did you use on Amélie?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

He didn't match her gaze as he replied. “meta-Chlorophenylpiperazine,” he said after taking a deep breath.

Apparently he knew what was coming. “mCPP?!” Angela gasped, her heart nearly stopping at the mention of drug. Once thought of as the legal answer to illegal drugs, it was infamous for how it exacerbated certain mental illnesses: depression, anxiety, panic attacks- as dissociative states. “Of all the drugs to use... my God, she didn't develop DPD, did she? You gave it to her!” Her fingers clenched on the seat's arms. “We gave it to her,” she whispered.

“Nothing like that, Angela! Please, you must believe me,” Gérard said. “She was well on her way to developing it, but once we had her initial brain scans, we knew had to accelerate the process!” Now he caught her gaze, his eyes echoing the desperate pleading he was giving her. “Please, Angela, you know as well as I did that it was necessary.”

 _Necessary?_ Angela wanted to say, or better yet, scream. _She was your friend, Gérard! For all I know, had we never met you would have married her!_ She wanted him to scream as well, to yell at her that it was all necessary, that it was all for the greater good. Like he was the villain of some cheesy Hollywood action film.

But she knew that even if he did, anything she responded with would be a hollow protest. After all, when push came to shove, Angela knew Gérard would never have agreed to turn Amélie Guillard into an assassin if Angela had not agreed with his plan to do so. 

It seemed so simple as they wheeled Amélie into the operating room after the Paris attack- she was agile, extremely empathetic, a perfect candidate for Project Widowmaker. Cruel as it may have been to turn her into Oversight's murderer, it seemed crueller still to let the opportunity pass them by, to search among untold millions of potential candidates across the world when they had someone right there. Angela thought of generations of young men and women saved from dying in hopeless wars, their lives bought by the peace of a single bullet. For his part, Gérard spoke of terrorists denied the valiant battles and glorious deaths they sought, they and their creeds both slain in the lonely dark. 

“It is better to be feared than loved,” Gérard had said later, musing above Amélie's comatose form, so quietly that Angela was sure he didn't know he was saying it even as Oversight agents prepped Amélie for transport. Now, months later, Angela felt another quote coming unbidden to her lips.

“First, do no harm,” she whispered to herself, so lost in memory she jumped a little when Gérard responded.

“I wish that were possible,” he said, the exhausted sincerity in his voice seemingly ageing him decades in a single instant. “But that isn't possible with the world we were given.” Hope seemed to return to his eyes though, as he went on. “All we can do is do our best, and pray Oversight can bring such a world about.”

“Don't patronize me, Gerard,” Angela said, and the quiet harshness of her voice surprised both of them. She took a deep breath, and went on. “I might not be as well-trained a psychologist as you are, but I don't have to be to see that whatever you're doing to Amélie is hurting her terribly,” she said. “As you said, you are her psychologist, Gerard- surely you have noticed something?”

“Like what?” Gerard asked. Angela was taken aback a little- how could he have not noticed?

“Gerard, I had to find out from outside colleagues that she has DPD,” she said, emphasizing each letter with care, and seeing her husband flinch a little with each syllable. “Furthermore, she has what looks to me like either irritable depression, or repressed anger- either way, I cannot see that as an asset in combat. She also seems... afraid of your psychological sessions,” Angela added. Strangely enough, the sudden shock and horror on Gerard's face gave her hope even as it disturbed her- was he coming around to see her side of the argument? 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Angela took a deep breath before continuing. “Gerard, when I was giving Amélie her pre-mission boosters and supplements, I said I'd try get her some privileges from Command if she performed well.”

“I'm not sure you have that authority,” Gerard said, but Angela held up a hand.

“I don't and I'm aware of that,” Angela said, “but I thought I'd be able to discuss giving Amélie a few extra vacation days once she had been officially inducted, or maybe some extra holodiscs or the like,” she added. “Minor things like that.” She shook her head slightly, still reluctant to go on, the words still sounding unbelievable to her. “But do you know what she wanted? Fewer psychiatric sessions, Gerard, _fewer psychiatric sessions_ ,” she repeated. “ _Großer Gott im Himmel_ , what are you doing to that poor girl?”

Gerard's mouth hung open for a second before he could find a response. “Nothing that's all that different from what you've done to her physical body,” he said, but Angela didn't need DPD or any hyper-emphatic ability to see that not even he seemed to believe his words. 

“Don't lie to me either, Gerard,” Angela said. “Amélie is... is fully aware of the surgeries I performed on her,” she said, her voice subsiding near the end before rising back up as she continued. “And she hates me for it- perhaps she is right to do so.”

“Angela-”

“But while she hates me,” Angela went on relentlessly, “you _terrify_ her,” Angela said. “Or disgust her to the point where she doesn't want to see you any more. Either way, it makes very little difference.”

“Angela,” Gerard began again. “You know full well that patient-doctor confidentiality-”

“I said to **stop** patronizing me, Gerard!” Angela snarled, the hiss in her voice no less effective for all its quietness. “We have broken so many ethical laws to turn Amélie into what she is, and you give me that excuse?”

She slumped in her seat. “All right, Gerard, keep your secrets, I don't care about the truth- but please, if Amélie so much as comes back from her mission, could you reduce the number of psychological tests she needs to take? Or have someone else take over?” she said. “That's all I want.”

Once again, it seemed to take Gerard a few moments to formulate a response. “I'm... I'm afraid that I can't do that,” he said at last. Angela noticed Gerard clench his hands as well, his knuckles whitening with the effort. “I can't change the methodology I'm using right now. Not when...”

“When what, Gerard?” Angela asked.

“...I'm sorry, Angela,” Gerard said. “But I... I can't tell you. Not without talking to Command,” he said, and Angela had to shake her head. Much later on, she would regret not asking Gerard what he meant, or even being surprised at his statement. Who knows what might have happened had she said something then? 

But she didn't. Commander Reyes might not have known about Amélie's condition, but his job was the big picture, details like this might not have reached his table. That didn't mean Jack or Ana didn't either, and at the time Angela simply assumed that they were satisfied with the results they were getting.

And so she shook her head and walked out, feeling the hope drain from her as she did so.


	2. British Spring Of Our Discontent, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this taking so long; hopefully a double-strength chapter would help make amends.

2140 Local Time, April 28th, 2068  
Oversight HQ, Geneva

Amélie looked up from the console in her darkened room. Apparently Commander Reyes had assigned her the callsign 'Widowmaker'. Her fingers had clenched when she first saw that name pop up, her mind's eye seeing the life she once had and would never have again. It wasn't as if she could escape, after all- she needed whatever hellbrew Angela constantly injected into her to survive. She had tried to force herself to forget the woman she had once been, losing herself in her training and her psychological reinforcement.

And then Oversight had to give her a callsign that was the antithesis of everything she had once been. Reyes had one hell of a sense of humour, she had to give him that.

She sighed and shook her head. Perhaps once the mission was underway, she could forget again, if just for a little while. She checked her arsenal: heavily modified Huntsman rifle, check. Grappling hook, check. Venom mines, check. Targeting headset with built-in communicator, check. She opened her door, the metal panels sliding aside with a gentle hiss, only for her to almost walk into Lena. 

Like Amélie, she was clad in Oversight's signature dark grey, though her uniform's flak jacket combined with her chronal accelerator gave her a lot more bulk than Amélie's catsuit did. A black circle struck through with a white, lightning bolt-styled 'S' decorated the shoulder of Lena's uniform, just as it was emblazoned on the shoulder of Amélie's own catsuit.

“Ack! Sorry, sorry!” the British woman said. “Didn't mean to stand so close, sorry!”

“If you say so,” Amélie said flatly. Though a full day and change had passed since she last spoke to Dr. Lacroix, her anger at the surgeon still hadn't fully abated. Part of her knew it wasn't fair to take it out on Lena, while the rest didn't really care. “What is it?”

“Well,” Lena said, rubbing the back of her head ruefully. “I just... I just wanted to apologise for yesterday.”

Judging by the way Lena shrank back, Amélie guessed that she was backing away from the flat stare Amélie was giving her. Later, Amélie would wonder what Lena would have done, had she known that Amélie only did that because she didn't have any idea what Lena was talking about at first. “The training session,” she said after a few seconds.

“Yeah, that,” Lena said, and the rueful blush returned to her cheeks. “I just wanted to say sorry for getting us chewed out.”

Amélie sighed, and moved past Lena, who quickly fell into step behind her. “It doesn't matter,” she said curtly. “We have a mission to join,” she said- then suddenly stopped in her tracks after taking a few steps to take a deep breath and rub her forehead. She realized that Lena really didn't deserve what Amélie wanted to dish out, and they _were_ going into a mission together, leaving what harshness she felt to... not fade, but take a back seat. _Of all the things for Dr. Lacroix to leave in me, it_ had _to be my conscience._ “No, no, I'm the one who should be sorry,” she said. “I... I have had far too much time to think lately,” she said.

Lena nodded. “I know how that feels,” she said softly. Amélie recalled what little she had been told about Lena's recruitment, and felt even worse about being so curt with her earlier. Suddenly, Lena shook her head lightly, and was all smiles again. “So... no hard feelings, yeah?”

“None at the moment,” Amélie said, and Lena laughed.

“Woo!” she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air and attracting more than a few curious stares. “I can tell we're going to be the best of friends, love!”

A few minutes later, as they took the underground tram to the hangar, Amélie was beginning to have her doubts about that.

“-and I'm not just saying that 'cos it's British soil, though that's a big reason too,” Lena was telling her. “I mean, my bloody flat's right in the bloody middle of that bloody lot! They better have not stomped all over it!” she said, checking the clasps around her chronal accelerator for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Ooh, I hope Oversight's got worker's comp, though I'm not sure it'd do much good,” she sighed. “I mean, it's not the sort of thing you could fill in a claims form for, yeah? Not likely either that they'd have an 'omnic uprising destroyed all my furniture' box on it even if you could.”

Amélie had shrugged as she looked out the windows at the brightly-lit tunnel walls beyond. “Who knows?” she said. “But even if Oversight won't pay, wouldn't the Union rebuild Workers' Row?”

“Pfft, yeah, in two years when the next election's up,” Lena had replied, a scowl on her face. It quickly turned back into excitement however, when the tram stopped at in front of the hangar. Amélie sighed inwardly with relief- she really didn't want to tell Lena that her chirpiness was starting to wear thin. As they walked inside the hangar, they saw a large VTOL waiting for them, painted in the same dark grey and bearing the same logo as their uniforms did. In front of the craft's open bays, stood Torbjorn and Reinhardt, the two older men seemingly sharing nothing in common save for skin colour and beard size .

Torbjorn was the first to notice the two women. “Oh look, the cavalry's here,” he said.

“Oooh, you hear that?” Lena said as she gave Amélie a gentle elbow in the side- never mind that thanks to Amélie's reduced circulation, her bruises and injuries would take longer to heal. Amélie made a mental note to tell Lena that later, once the girl stopped talking. “I like the sound of that- 'The cavalry's here!' You think that'd make a good catchphrase?”

Amélie sighed inwardly. It was going to be a long flight.

* * * * *

2215 Local Time, April 28th, 2068  
First Union Army Group, entrenched in and around the Eric Arthur Blair Theatre

The VTOL flew at low altitudes over the buildings of London. The night sky was illuminated in the distance by fires around Westminster and Big Ben, and up close by anti-aircraft lasers. The VTOL's pilot brought it dangerously lower, the underside of his craft scant metres from the roofs of buildings and clipping various antennas and satellite dishes. It flew near the building that had once been known as the Victoria Palace Theatre, before having its name changed after the Revolution to commemorate Britain's first Minister of Truth and Art. Said theatre had been fortified by British soldiers, and the red flag of the Union of Britain stood proudly a stone's throw where the banners of Null Sector hung in equal defiance.

With the exception of the interception fire, however, the combat seemed to have mostly died down. This left British soldiers free to look up at the night sky where the VTOL was already making landing preparations. For some of the soldiers, seeing the symbol of Oversight boosted their spirits, but quite a few more wondered how much of an impact the a single VTOL's soldiers could possibly have. As she walked out of the VTOL, Amélie couldn't help but share their thoughts.

The sound of metal on metal made her look back. In his full Kreuzfahrer power armour, the hulking mass that was Reinhardt Wilhelm, Reichsritter Von Eichenwalde looked even more mechanical than any omnic Amélie had seen, either in person or in Oversight's propaganda posters. Only his head, as yet unprotected by the helmet that hung by his side, showed that he was human underneath. Even so, that fact that he stood a full 7 feet outside his armour and 8 within only went to show just how advanced Germany's gene-therapy programs were.

Behind him came Torbjorn, Oversight's diminutive engineer. It was Amélie could do to tune out his and Reinhardt's boasts of what they'd do once they reached Workers' Row as they flew from Geneva. Even so, Amélie wondered if she was the only one who noticed the difference in the two men's tones. Reinhardt's speeches emphasized bravery and derring-do to the point where Amélie wouldn't have believed he existed if he hadn't been right next to her (and even then, it was just barely). Torbjorn's on the other hand... whatever was happening in Workers' Row held some kind of personal significance for him.

Amélie idly wondered what it was. She could understand Reinhardt's desire for glory, or Lena's desire to protect her home, but Torbjorn's hatred for omnics went beyond any mere racism. She pushed those thoughts out of her head- those questions could wait for later. Right now, the team had someone to meet-

Amélie shifted her gaze from her teammates to look at the anachronism walking towards her. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised by the cowboy walking towards her- after all, she was there with a modern knight, and her catsuit wasn't exactly standard military issue either. “You are... Lieutenant McCree, yes?” she asked.

“That I am, _mon chérie_ ,” he said, his accent (and Amélie suspected, his attitude) mangling it into 'mawn share-ree'. Then she noticed how his eyes immediately fell on the rest of the squad, sweeping them with a hard, appraising gaze that seemed entirely at odds with the persona he seemed to shroud himself in. When he noticed her looking at him, he gave her a slight nod of approval. “But you can just call me Jesse. That said, while we're out here I think y'all should stick to callsigns if you've got 'em. Anyway, I reckon y'all know how to handle yourselves,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, and Amélie knew not to fall for his lazy cowboy shtick again.

Apparently someone should have told the British commander that. With his ferocious orange moustache, red beret and khaki uniform, the man couldn't have looked more like a British military commander if he tried. “I should hope that sorry shower of yours can handle themselves!” he said to McCree. “When you said you were going to petition Oversight for reinforcements, I expected an army, or at least several squads of soldiers!”

The officer shook his head. “You lot do realize that Null Sector has taken hostages, correct?” he asked. “Over a hundred people, including Mayor Nandah! Are you telling me these four are all we're getting?”

“Five, Colonel Wellesley,” McCree said, pointing at himself.

“Oh well, that's bloody marvellous!” the Colonel replied. “Before this, I had written the situation off as hopeless with only four Oversight operatives, but now I see we have five of Oversight's finest we'll drive these terrorists into the Thames by breakfast tomorrow! And once we're done with that we'll put the kettle on and have a cup of tea before we invade France and reclaim Normandy for the British throne! Long live Prince Hal!”

He kept ranting, but Amélie wasn't paying attention to what he was any more, not wholly at least. She found herself paying the most attention to how he moved and talked, his stiff gesticulations, his strained tones-

_The Party Chairman was being insistent, but he could take any amount of bluster from that pompous twit._

_However, he has orders, and those orders will get a lot of people killed._

_Hundreds of young men and women, many of whom are there only because every Party member must serve a year in the civil service before being allowed higher citizenship privileges, will not see tomorrow._

_And who knows what the machines are doing in there? He could hold back, but that only would mean giving the invaders- because that's what he sees them as- time he couldn't afford to lose, not for London's sake._

_He doesn't have a plan, and the ridiculous bloody American doesn't seem to either, just giving the Colonel broad strokes about what his bloody circus would do, when the Colonel needs specifics._

_Because if he doesn't have specifics, he wouldn't know what to do, how to act, how to react._

_How to save his men's lives._

The sound of creaking servos and shifting metal drew her out of her reverie. “Widowmaker?” Reinhardt asked. “Is something wrong, _mein Kind_? You were staring off into space.”

“I think I have a plan,” Amélie said quietly. “Tracer?” Amélie said, turning to the British girl as McCree and Colonel Wellesley argued. “Could you step into the VTOL for a moment? I need you to go all the way back.”

“Eh?” Lena asked. “Love, if this is some way of sending me back home, you're doing an awful job of it.”

“Good thing I'm not doing that,” Amélie said. “Please?'

“All right,” Lena said, giving Amélie an unsure look before walking back to the VTOL.

“Got something planned, girl?” Torbjorn asked Amélie.

Amélie nodded, then turned to the Colonel and McCree. “ _Excusez moi?_ ” she called out. “Colonel? Lieutenant? Could you follow me for a moment?” she said, motioning them back towards the VTOL.

“What? What is it now?” the Colonel asked angrily, but nevertheless he followed Amélie to the VTOL. Inside, just as Amélie had asked, Lena waited right in the back next to the cockpit. “Hmph. If you're planning to have her seduce me, you're sorely mistaken,” he snarled.

Amélie held up a hand to halt Lena's indignant squawk. “Tracer? Could you blink here, _s'il vous plait_?”

Lena blinked. “Wait, what? I- I don't know what you're talking about,” she said with a wide smile. Amélie made another mental note to try play poker with Lena sometime.

“Colonel Wellesley needs to trust us,” Amélie said evenly. “And for that to happen, we'll need to trust him- we can trust you, correct?” she asked, turning to the Colonel.

“One doesn't become a Colonel in the Red Army without being able to keep a few secrets, if that's what this is about,” he huffed, though Amélie could see that he was slowly becoming interested. “What is this all about?” he asked. Amélie didn't respond at first, instead nodding to Lena, who sighed and disappeared in a flash of blue light, accompanied by the shuddering whoosh of imploding air and displaced chronotons. A moment later, Lena reappeared less than a foot from the VTOL's entrance. “Bloody hell!” Colonel Wellesley gasped.

“Colonel,” Amélie said quietly as she leaned in towards him. “You are worried about your soldiers, I can tell. I know you would not want to risk their lives by marching them into that hell,” she said, briefly pointing her rifle at the distant flames. “You have seen what Tracer can do, and my body temperature is low enough to fool most heat sensors,” she said, before turning to McCree. “Lieutenant, I propose that I and Lena go scout the area out first before we make more detailed plans.”

McCree gave a short laugh. “You know what Reyes says about plans, right?” he said, grinning widely. “All right, all right,” he added. “Sounds like a fine plan. Better than mine at any rate, though in my defence I didn't know I'd have you two on my team.”

“Are you mad?” Torbjorn asked. Amélie found herself silently agreeing- she had expected McCree to object. “They-” he said, when he saw the Colonel looking back at them, curious. “They haven't had a lot of field experience,” he said delicately, or as delicately as someone could speak through clenched teeth. 

“Oh Torbjorn,” Reinhardt laughed. “You worry too much! They are as skilled as they are comely, what is there to be worried about?” he said, bowing gallantly to Amélie and Lena. “And besides, how else would one earn field experience other than operating in the field?”

Lena pat Reinhardt on his breastplate, her smile almost as wide as his. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, love,” she said. “Don't worry lads, we might not have field experience, but we've got something even better- girl power!” she said, placing an elbow on Amélie's shoulder as she leaned on the sniper.

Second thoughts began to overwhelm Amélie, and she turned to McCree. Though she did her best not to show it, she knew her eyes were pleading, because everything about McCree's body language, from his easy backwards slouch to his small grin said:

_This was your idea, there's no-one else to blame._

* * * * *

Peering past the wreckage into the smoky depths beyond, Amélie wondered if she really had bitten off more than she could chew when she made her suggestion. She knew full well what she and Lena could do, but against the vast array of defences before her, they seemed insignificant indeed. Her fingers twitched with the temptation to touch the communicator in her ear, to ask McCree for assistance.

But he'd told Amélie and Lena what little he could of the defences, especially with how they could pick up radio transmissions. He'd let them keep their communicators, but everyone knew that once Amélie and Lena were behind the defensive line, they would be operating blind and extraction would be near impossible.

Not that it seemed to destroy Lena's spirits. “Look at that,” she said quietly and reverently. “Westminster Abbey's still standing, and so's Big Ben. Maybe the clockworks have some standards after all.”

“Or perhaps they know we would not fire on them unless we absolutely have to,” Amélie replied calmly. Some small part of her that was France took a little joy in how Lena's face fell. “Probably fortified as well,” she added, unable to keep a small smile from spreading across her face. “High buildings like that would make excellent sniper perches, and ones you'll want to keep even if you English decide to attack them anyway,” she said.

“Yeah, go on ahead, Frenchie, laugh,” Lena grumbled. “But once we move in, we'll show you what we Brits can do!”

“Forget the rest of your countrymen for now, and let's start with you,” Amélie said, all business again. She looked into the darkness beyond with her scope. “That's interesting.”

“What is?”

“It seems that the patrols are less frequent than what McCree said,” Amélie replied, still peering through her scope. “Larger than what he reported, though.” She lowered her rifle a little- she had to admit, she was impressed. “it seems like they're prepared for larger prey, thanks to McCree. It also seems he wasn't exaggerating the damage he caused. I wouldn't have expected of him.”

“Same here- who knew a Yank could tell the truth without making it ten times bigger?” Lena said. “How does that help though?” Amélie smiled, and outlined her plan. It was short, possibly mad- and by the light in Lena's eyes, the British woman liked it.

Around a minute after Lena first asked that question, the British woman blinked past the massive autocannons that had halted McCree's own scouting attempt. For her part, Amélie launched a grappling hook onto a nearby roof, one of the few left on its building. She saw something almost scan her, but the grappling hook pulled her up faster than the mechanical eye could move. Of course, ascending at such speed would have splattered a lesser person, but Amélie managed to gracefully flip herself onto the roof. 

She ran quickly for the opposite end of the building- while the omnics' patrol routes were sparser, they were only barely so. Peering over the side, she fired her hook onto the ground, next to Lena. The girl quickly took hold of the line, and Amélie took hold of the building's chimney before retracting the hook and bringing Lena along. 

Just in time too- right as Lena's boots hit the roof, an omnic patrol rounded a corner. “Phew, that was close,” Lena whispered, hiding behind the chimney with Amélie. “No wonder the Lieutenant couldn't get through, if that's what counts as 'less sodding frequent' 'round here. Good plan, by the way,” she added with a grin.

“Oh no, do not thank me yet,” Amélie said. “We have merely crossed the street.” She scanned the rooftops, first with her eyes, and then with her rifle. “I think I have a route for you,” she said. The fact that Lena needed a continuous horizontal surface to blink was a small hindrance, but it wasn't insurmountable.

“Thanks” Lena said after Amélie outlined the route for her “For the record, I still think that as ideas go, this is a horrible Part 2, and I love it,” Lena said.

“Noted,” Amélie said dryly. “Again, we shall meet up at Westminster Abbey, confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” Lena said. She then saluted Amélie, and set off across the rooftops. As Amélie leaped and swung from ruined building to ruined building, she sometimes saw a flash in the blackness of night as Lena blinked across shattered Westminster. Below her, Amélie saw scattered omnics patrolling- and very little else. Her lips tightened as she considered the possibilities.

The sound of Lena blinking back into existence next to her helped her focus return to the mission. “Heh, and here I thought I'd be late,” Lena said. “No trouble getting here? “

Amélie shook her head, and placed a finger to her lips as she raised her rifle. Lena nodded, giving Amélie a short salute before drawing one of her pistols. The two women quietly made their way to a roof maintenance hatch, and after Amélie picked the archaic lock with a quick thrust of her rifle's butt, they sneaked into the upper levels of Westminster Abbey, and gasped at the number of omnics the church held.

Namely, none. “Bloody hell, is Null Sector having a go at us?” Lena breathed. “Why's it empty?”

Since she was as nonplussed as Lena was, Amélie could only shrug. “Perhaps that is it,” she said after a few seconds. “Null Sector is having, as you say, such a 'go' at us, they haven't got anyone back here.”

“They can't have sent everyone off though,” Lena pointed out. “Who'd keep their eyes on the hostages?”

“You are assuming Null Sector has actually left anyone alive,” Amélie said, giving voice to her suspicions. Even in the dim light of the Abbey's interior, Amélie could see Lena's face grow a little paler. Before she could say anything else, however, both her and Lena's attention were drawn to the sound of the Abbey's doors opening.

Instead of the omnics they were expecting, however, they saw a very human head peek in. Unlike the dimly-lit upper floors, the Abbey's lights fully illuminated the floor below, bathing it in a warm, yellow glow. The person who peeked in, a red-haired woman wearing jeans and a red leather jacket over a white shirt, slowly stepped into the Abbey. When she saw that it was empty, she motioned outside for someone to come in. 

Or rather, some _ones_ \- two more people entered the Abbey. The first was a dark-skinned, dark-haired woman in stark corporate clothing that somehow only emphasized her slim build. Amélie made a note not to underestimate her, though, as she held a strange energy pistol with an ease and grace that would've been uncommon among the executives she resembled. Amélie didn't know many executives with an obviously cybernetic arm either. The second was more surprising to Amélie; this one was an omnic, robed from the waist down, hovering slightly above the ground in a cross-legged position, a thin band of silver spheres gently orbiting it.

“What is that doing with two people?” Amélie whispered. “Tracer, any ideas? Tracer?” She turned to Lena, who was looking down, her gaze fixed on something or someone. “Tracer? Lena?” Amélie asked. Below, the red-haired girl sat down on one of the pews and leaned back, evidently exhausted. The other woman however seemed alert, aiming her pistol at the rapidly closing gap of the main doors as the omnic closed them.

Not that Lena saw it, even with her eyes as open as they were. Amélie followed Lena's gaze, and when she noticed who she was looking at, did her best to roll her eyes to peer at the back of her skull. She gave Lena a withering look, not that the Englishwoman could have noticed. Judging by how she was looking at the redhead, Amélie sincerely doubted that her partner would have noticed if all of Null Sector marched into the cathedral and started pole dancing. 

She was about to reach over and shake Lena back to her senses, when Lena inadvertently decided their next move. “She's beautiful...” she said. Not whispered. _Said._

Westminster Abbey's stone walls insulated the inside from the noise of the outside, and by that time of night the fighting had mostly died down. Between that, and how careful the new arrivals were taking pains to be, it was very easy for them to hear what Lena said. The slim woman pointed her pistol at the roof, and shining blue dots appeared in the centre of the the omnic's silver spheres. Even so, it was only when the red-haired woman stepped back with a frightened gasp that Lena snapped out of her trance. “Oh bollocks!” she hissed.

With a barely suppressed snarl, Amélie quickly shouldered her rifle and raised her hands. One didn't need to be an empath to see that the three people below (well, the two women certainly- she wasn't sure about the omnic) were scared. Even the slim woman's stance, while well-practiced, was for a moment too stiff to not be a fear reaction.

“Don't shoot, we're on your side,” Amélie said calmly, keeping her voice just low enough to be heard but not carry outside, or so she hoped. She nodded to the sheepish Lena next to her, and she also raised her hands. “May I come down, _s'il vous plait_? I will use a grappling hook to do so, but it has been suppressed. It will not make enough noise to matter.”

The three arrivals looked sideways at each other. After a few moments, the slim woman nodded, first at the other two with her, and then at Amélie. Amélie responded likewise, and fired her hook at the rafters opposite her. She swung down, shortening and then retracting her hook in time to give her a safe landing. Even then, she still had to splay her legs as soon as she hit the ground on the other side of the room, one hand on the floor and the other thrust behind her for balance. As she rose up, she could see the new arrivals looking at her with strange expressions that mixed both fear and bemusement.

The sound of a throat being cleared drew Amélie's attention back to the rafters. Amélie lifted her hooking arm, then turned to the slim woman, who seemed to be the leader of the group. “May I?” she asked.

“Of course, by all means,” the woman replied. Amélie wasn't much of a world traveller, never had been, but she placed the woman's accent as Indian. Amélie pretended not to notice the woman glancing at the Oversight logo on her shoulder, nor how her pistol barely lowered even so. Turning her attention back up, Amélie fired her hook into the rafters above where she had been standing, and gave Lena a slight smile. 

For her part, Lena was incredulous. “Wait... you want me to rappel down? You can't be serious!” she said, with the same kind of low tones Amélie had used. “I'd have my fingers right off if I did that! And who's going to catch me?”

Amélie was about to tell Lena to stop being a baby and trust in her gloves, when an evil thought surfaced in her mind. Lena was responsible for blowing their cover after all- what's a little payback? She turned to her side, and conveniently for her plans, the red-haired woman was the closest to her. “ _Excusez-moi, madamoiselle_ ,” she said sweetly as she bowed slightly. “Might I ask your name?”

“Uh, I'm Emily- Emily Christian,” the woman said. “That's Satya,” she added, pointing to the corporate woman, “and that's Zen-something... Zenyatta, right?” she said, pointing to the omnic, who bowed slightly in affirmation. 

“A pleasure to meet you all,” Amélie said to the now wholly-bemused group. “Unfortunately, I cannot give you my real name, but you may call me by my callsign, Widowmaker,” she said, giving Emily a sweet smile and wishing she could see the look on Lena's face as she did so. “And that is Tracer up there,” she said, turning back to face the other woman. “Unfortunately, Tracer is a little... _heavier_ than I am, and so she might need some assistance coming down,” she said, giving Lena the most beatific smile she could muster before refocusing on Emily. “I will need your help, Emily. Could you catch her as she comes down?” she asked.

“Uhm, all right,” Emily said, standing in front of Amélie. “All right, I'm ready,” she said, her arms open.

“And you, Tracer?” Amélie asked, turning her gaze upwards, grinning all the while. “Are you ready?” It was obvious to her, if not everyone, that Lena was anything but ready. Even so, it didn't hurt to ask- well, didn't hurt Amélie, anyway.

She saw Lena take a deep breath and shoot one final death glare at her before taking off her dark grey Oversight cap, placing it on the hook's cabling and using that as additional cushioning as she rappelled down. Lena let go shortly before colliding with Emily- who to Amélie's surprise, managed to stay upright, though she did stagger a little with Lena's waist in her arms. 

As Emily looked back up, she caught Lena's gaze as the Oversight agent looked down at her. “I don't know, Miss Widowmaker,” Emily said, looking upwards at Lena. “She doesn't seem all that heavy to me,” she added, her tones as soft as the smile she was giving Lena- and the one she was receiving in return. Once again, Amélie's eyes did their best to perform a vertical 360-degree turn.

_Merde._

* * * * *

As she knelt, Amélie's scope swept across the roads below. She had gone back to the upper floors of Westminster Abbey, and was now peering through the slightly open doors above the Abbey's main entrance. She could see Big Ben (or rather, Elizabeth Tower- the tower that actually housed the bell named Big Ben) directly ahead of her, behind a shattered statue, of which only the legs still remained. In front of the statue, a burnt out double-decker stood unmoving in front of a large theatre, what few still-functioning lights barely illuminating an nearby alleyway.

“Lots of cover. I can certainly see how you managed to sneak past the patrols,” Amélie said. While the patrols were still sparse here, they were more frequent than they were in the (literally) no-man's-land Amélie and Lena had passed over before. “Good work, Miss Vaswani,” she said to the woman she had taken up with her.

“Thank you,” Satya said quietly. “But you should really thank Zenyatta,” she said. “All this was his plan.”

Amélie momentarily looked back down into the Abbey's lower floor. The omnic was still sitting cross-legged, meditating quietly. In a quiet corner of the church, Lena and Emily were quietly talking, but while their words were quiet, their gestures and smiles definitely weren't. Amélie had to admit, most of the irritation she felt seeing them wasn't wholly thanks to Lena's lack of professionalism. Jealousy paid a part there as well, especially since Emily was British as well. _It must be nice, having someone to come back to._

Amélie mentally shook herself, and went back to work. “That thing on the floating platform in front of Big Ben,” she said. “Do you know what that is?” she asked, watching several omnics tinker with a massive cylindrical object attached to an antigravity platform- judging by the way the repulsors on the bottom were flickering, it wouldn't stay up for much longer without help.

Satya nodded. “It is some kind of mobile battery or power device,” she said. “From what I managed to hear from our guards, the omnics want to use the nearby factory to produce more of their kind. With the government throttling power to the area, their resources are stretched.”

Amélie made a mental note of that- it seemed that the attack would have to go in sooner rather than later. “Regarding the factory, I also noticed a few unusual omnic designs out there,” she said. “I recognize the Bastion units,” she added through clenched teeth, Oversight's enemy-recognition training having been painfully effective, “but there are a few others I didn't. Do you?” 

Satya shook her head. “No, but if the rumours I heard from the other hostages were correct, then it's possible the omnics are building their own custom machines,” she said. Amélie only nodded, groaning inwardly. She knew how to fight the Bastion units, at least theoretically, but the monstrosities she saw walking around? Now she could see what Commander Reyes meant about battle plans.

As far as she could tell, there were four unique models, next to the two Bastion units: the first seemed like a large cannon mounted on a quadrupedal chassis. The second was another four-legged model, but where the first was a mass of cobbled-together machinery, this one seemed custom built for strength, with smooth white armour plating over its four legs and flat circle of a chassis. Like an insect's mouth, some kind of electrical projector protruded from the middle. A third omnic looked like a massive, walking pile of junk welded together, armed with a massive short-barrelled gun and some kind of grappling hook, farm too small for its hulking size. The final model seemed to be Null Sector's leader, and he rode in some kind of hovering cylindrical shell armed with two kitbashed guns on either side and anti-human slurs painted all over.

The sound of someone hissing at her and Satya from below drew her attention. “Am- I mean, Widowmaker!” Lena hissed, waving at them. “I've been talking to Emily, and I've got good news!”

“Give me a moment,” Amélie told Satya, and the latter nodded slightly as Amélie leapt safely down from her perch. “All right, what is this 'good news'?”

“All right, all right, here's the first bit,” Lena said excitedly. “First off, my flat's fine!”

Amélie was about to slap Lena aside the head, but something about the girl's excited demeanour gave her pause. “And?” she said through clenched teeth. 

“And you know what's better?” Lena said, not missing a beat. “The reason it's still intact? Well, that's because that's where they've got all the hostages!”

Amélie's eyebrows raised. “Well... that _is_ good news. Anything else?”

Lena's smile grew even wider. Amélie had to admit, where she found the girl's chirpiness irritating before, it had somehow looped around into being infectious. “Oooh, you'll love this bit, trust me,” she said, giving Amélie a devilish smile. “Guess where Null Sector's just moved their HQ to? Down the road from here!”

* * * * *

“All in all, that's some mighty fine scouting work there,” McCree said after Amélie had relayed what she had learned. Like the rest of the squad, he had gathered around the VTOL for lack of better things to do- but judging by the way he seemed to stand taller, that situation had changed. “Mighty fine indeed!” he laughed, though Amélie had her doubts over whether McCree could actually feel anything remotely resembling despair. He'd certainly taken her story that she left Lena behind to 'guard the other escapees' well enough.

She certainly didn't think he'd have accepted 'wanting to get to know one of said escapees better', for sure. Or maybe he would have- that relaxed cowboy act couldn't be completely false, could it?

He turned to the one escapee Amélie had brought back. “Miss Vaswani, I don't mean to cast all manner of aspersions and doubt upon your testimony,” he drawled, “but you can confirm all this, right?”

“As much as I can, yes,” she said. “But I am an architech, so there might be something I'm missing.”

“There certainly is!” Torbjorn said, waving a sheaf of maps and diagrams the Union's army had provided him, but his wide smile took the sting out of his words. “That model of battery- I recognize it! Now, I won't bother you all with the details, but I think I have a way to take out the factory,” he said, his smile growing even wider when he spoke of taking out Null Sector's newest HQ.

“Hah! I know that smile, Torbjorn!” Reinhardt said, laughing loudly. “How big will the explosion be? Should I make bets?”

“Bah!” Torbjorn said, scowling at the hulking German. “I never said anything about explosions! I can make plans that do not involve explosions, you know!” he said. All he got in response was Reinhardt staring down at him with a beatific smile, and in the face of such relentless opposition, Torbjorn sighed and looked down. “Big. It will be a very big explosion,” he grumbled quietly. “There will be a conventional explosion, sure, but it's the EMP pulse that follows is that will be the main event.”

“How large will either be? It won't harm the hostages, would it?” Satya asked. “Human and omnic?”

Torbjorn waved her objections away. “If I've got these addresses right,” he said, picking out a map from the papers he held, “then the humans will be perfectly safe. As for the clockworks, who cares? For all we know, they might have had something to do with this whole mess! Hey, Reinhardt, there's something we can take a bet on!”

Reinhardt shook his head. “Now, now, Torbjorn, that might be true, but we are heroes! Great heroes! We do not presume guilt, but protect the innocent! And until any of them are proven guilty, we shall defend them as we would a newborn child!”

Amélie leaned towards McCree. “Is... is he always like this?” she asked, as Reinhardt raised his hammer up high and began pronouncing what he saw as knightly virtues.

McCree snickered. “Oh, Widowmaker, you have no idea,” he said, over the cheers of the British soldiers nearby. 

Torbjorn didn't look too impressed, however. “Very stirring, Reinhardt, very heroic! But here's the problem- the moment we attack the place, they're going to plug that thing in. And when I say 'plug', I mean they're going to just jam that thing into a slot that wasn't meant to take something that big-”

As McCree snickered, Amélie felt strangely vindicated by her decision to leave Lena at the Abbey.

“-removing it would take hours, and be extremely hazardous! There will be electricity _everywhere_ ,” the Swede was saying. “Safer to simply overload the thing and blow it up.” He looked at the map again. “Hmmm... hmph, if you're worried about the clockworks, then they should be out of the blast radius. I think. Maybe.”

“What if we intercepted the battery before the omnics attached it?” Amélie asked.

Tornjorn snorted. “Good luck doing that,” he said. “Not all of us are supermodels with grappling hooks, girl.”

“I have to agree,” Reinhardt said. “I don't mind giving up the thrill of attacking the enemy head-on especially if it means saving more people, but, well,” he said, sweeping his hand across the group and the soldiers beyond. “We are not the most silent of armies.”

“We don't have to be,” McCree said thoughtfully. “The Colonel's boys strike hard enough, ain't an omnic 'round these parts won't give up the chance to fight back. If we can get a small group of specialists in, sucker punch Null Sector- yeah, I can see how it'd be done.”

“Except for the problem of getting in,” Torbjorn said, “which leaves us right where we are.”

“True,” McCree said, lighting a cigarette. “But I reckon Widowmaker's got something up her sleeve- figuratively speaking, of course,” he said.

Amélie didn't respond at first, instead directing her gaze at Satya, who sighed. While they had agreed to this plan back at the Abbey, Satya was unsure even then, but it was too late to back out now, especially since Amélie had helped her escape. Amélie wondered if Satya would ever figure out that was her intention. “Before I begin,” she said, “I want to inform all of you that what I am going to show you is extremely confidential. Vishkar would have my head if they find out about this.”

Reinhardt grinned. “Well, my dear, you have piqued my curiosity,” he said. “If you're worried about someone outside Oversight seeing you, just go to the back of the VTOL.”

Satya nodded, and walked inside, where the craft's radio crackled into life. “Well damn,” the pilot said, his Southern accent similar to McCree's easy drawl, at least to Amélie's ears. “Looks like my ship's become some kind of convention centre,” he said.

“Hah!” Reinhardt said, grinning widely. “Don't deny it, Big Sky- you like the company, admit it!”

For her part, Satya ignored the banter. She held her cybernetic hand palm up, and managed to conjure up a strange geometric shape which she somehow twisted with her other, flesh-and-blood hand. Suddenly, the shape flew off from her hand, and turned into a strange, glowing oval shape floating just a few centimetres above ground level.

“ _Gott im Himmel_ ,” Reinhardt said in breathless tones as he crossed himself. “What is that?”

“It is a prototype teleportation portal,” Satya said. “We are just developing them at Vishkar- right now we are still trying to create stabilizing platforms to keep them open longer, but for now-”

“Wait!” Torbjorn said. “Are you saying these portals are unstable?”

“Only if they transport too much matter too quickly,” Satya replied. “Once I fully activate this, it will link to a prototype platform in the Abbey. It should be enough for three, maybe up to five people to go through in a space of five to eight minutes. Those are the safest parameters I can think of- I would not test those limits any further if possible.”

“I can make my own way back,” Amélie said, pointing to Torbjorn, Reinhardt and McCree. “I would suggest that you three take the portal, and the hostages we left behind come through over here.”

“Well, well, well,” McCree said, giving Amélie a wide smile. “Look at you, your first mission and already so grown-up.”

“First mission?” Satya asked, her eyes widening.

Amélie ignored her. “ _Pardon_ ,” she said. “I didn't mean-”

“Oh no, no!” McCree said, grinning as he held his hands up, also ignoring the increasingly distressed Satya. “It's all right. Nice to have someone pick up the slack. Ain't much of a thinker myself.” He tapped his nose. “Word to the wise though- we don't let Jack hear about this. Lieutenant Commander Morrison, I mean. That guy's a real stickler for the rules.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Amélie said.

McCree nodded, then turned back to the rest. “All right then, here's the plan. Amélie goes back to the Abbey and tells everyone there to get to cover, while I go tell the Colonel what we've got planned. Ten minutes tops before we move. And don't worry, Miss Vaswani,” he said, seeing the worried look she was giving him. “I'll just feed him the old 'classified info, top secret, need-to-know-only' line, should be good enough. Ain't nobody but us gonna know about that tech, right boys and girls?” he asked, giving the rest of the squad what he would later call 'the old snake eyes'.

He turned back to Amélie. “All right then, li'l lady,” he said. “See you in ten.”

* * * * *

Kneeling at her perch back on the second floor of the Abbey, Amélie made her last few adjustments to her rifle. They were nothing more than the most minor tweaks, but it kept her mind off what she was about to do. For two months she had been trained-

_changed_  
moulded  
shaped  
sculpted 

-for this exact situation, but now the reality seemed to close in on her. As open as the Abbey's halls were, she felt the walls closing in. She tried to focus on the situation ahead of her, but all it did was make her tense up more. She could see one of the two Bastion units she sighted earlier on a platform next to Big Ben in its turret form, but as for the second, she had no idea. She also thought she saw one of the more unusual omnics, which looked like a four-legged gun, lope behind the burning bus.

She then turned around, hoping to draw some reassurance from her teammates, but seeing them didn't help either. McCree looked like his usual, relaxed self on first glance, but even as high up as she was, Amélie could see his jaw clench, his breathing far too slow and steady to actually be relaxed. Torbjorn's grip was tightening around his hammer, twitching slightly in his tense hands. 

Across from them, Lena was twirling her pistols when she noticed Amélie looking down at her, and smiled- but it was one that didn't seem to hold much confidence behind it. At least they managed to send Emily back beforehand. Amélie couldn't overtly tell what Reinhardt was feeling, as he was encased in his suit, but the fact that his natural exuberance had subsided was enough for her. Only Zenyatta seemed truly at peace, his hands clasped together.

_“I wish to fight,” he had said earlier, when he refused to retreat with Emily. “I and my brother came here to prove that humans have nothing to fear from omnics-”_

_“Oho, great job you're doing!” Torbjorn had said as he growled at the omnic._

_“I know that we have failed in that respect,” Zenyatta had replied calmly. “That has been done, and cannot be unmade. Nevertheless, I also cannot and will not compound that failure by standing by when I know I can help.”_

_“You do realize what'll happen when that battery blows, right?” McCree had asked._

_“Yes,” Zenyatta replied. “But I am not afraid. We all emerged from the Iris, and to it we shall return.”_

It was a fine sentiment, Amélie mused as she turned her attention back to the streets ahead of her, but she doubted whether it would be enough. She knew well enough that noble intentions didn't necessarily lead to-

Ahead of her, Big Ben tolled midnight. Almost immediately, the sound of the bells were drowned out by the sound of gunfire as the British troops moved in. Amélie almost bolted there and then, though she'd never be able to say whether she'd have run for the battery or back to the British lines. Either way, she restrained herself with some effort, settling for tightening her grasp on her rifle.

As the sound of the omnic advance died away, she cursed. “Some of the omnics aren't moving,” she whispered into her communicator. That Bastion unit next to Big Ben hadn't moved, and she was sure that she hadn't seen any of the unusual models she'd taken note of leave either. “I think the commander's still here as well.”

“Good- time to cut off the head of this rattler,” McCree's voice came in over her communicator. “Seems like most of the omnics have moved out. That means it's our turn to move in ten... nine...”

Amélie took a deep breath, and let her training take over. She idly wondered if she could escape in the chaos, but only for a brief moment. It's not like anyone could help her survive if she did, even if they wanted to.

“Go!” McCree called, and then all Amélie could do was act.

As soon as she burst forth onto the second floor, she took a shot at the Bastion unit. Fortunately for her, it seemed to have been confused by the dual assault, and she managed to get a shot off. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't enough to kill it. She took aim for a second shot, but the Bastion suddenly started glowing with the energies of a forcefield, and she cursed once more, especially since the Bastion seemed to have decided on her as its target.

Aiming her grappling hook, she aimed for the ledge in front of the theatre ahead of her, right before the Bastion's gunfire shattered the doors Amélie had just exited.

Below her, her allies were talking the initiative. Lena had taken both the lead and advantage of the Bastion's divided attention. Unfortunately, the force field seemed to be blocking her shots, and even with help from McCree's powerful revolver and Torbjorn's rivet gun, the shield didn't seem to be going down. Reinhardt was charging ahead, his shield glowing brightly in the dim streets.

Landing on the ledge outside the theatre, Amélie immediately took aim at the Bastion, taking care to charge her rifle this time. But even as she pressed the trigger, she saw something that lowered her low body temperature even further. The road that led from the Abbey, to Big Ben, and to the factory had to pass by a narrow alleyway- and in the middle of that alleyway, some distance beyond the battery, was the Bastion Amélie had missed. “Lena! Reinhardt! Behind you!” she cried, and took aim.

“Widowmaker! Behind you!”

Amélie wondered why someone would repeat her warning, but she turned anyway-only to find herself literally staring into the barrel of a massive gun. _C'est de conneries! How did it get here?_ Amélie willed her legs to move, but they moved agonizingly slow in the split-second she had to live. As a light formed in the middle of the barrel, Amélie mused that maybe it won't be so bad. She would go into the darkness wondering if Angela would have kept her promise, but that was a small price to pay for release.

That release never came, however- Amélie heard the sound of energy impacting metal, and the gun-walker's aim shifted slightly, launching its energy sphere off into a nearby building and shattering its masonry. The omnic's turret spun to face its other assailant, knocking Amélie off her feet and sending her flying back into a wall, Amélie only managing to flip just in time to avoid being slammed headfirst into it. As she did so, she spotted a seam in the turret ring, where the gun met the chassis. In that split second, Amélie realized that she hadn't let go of the trigger at all, and her rifle was insistently beeping that it had fully charged her next shot. Though it felt like she was moving in water, she managed to bring her charged rifle up in mid-air and fire.

The next few moments seemed like an eternity of light and fire, and while she managed to protect herself from the worst of the impact, she still managed to hit the wall back-first. But when she opened her eyes, it was to see an omnic split in two, its turret sticking in the theatre's roof for a moment before falling down on the rest of the broken omnic. A metal orb shrouded in an angry red glow hovered around it for a second before returning to its kin orbiting Zenyatta.

“Impressive,” the omnic said, floating over to Amélie and holding out a hand. The grateful French woman took it, and was about to thank him when she heard the sound of an autocannon gun preparing to fire. Without even looking to see which Bastion was priming to fire at them, she held tightly onto the hand Zenyatta gave her. She didn't bother with saying anything, instead just taking his arm and running for it. A moment after she did so, autocannon shells tore up the theatre's masonry and ceiling.

Standing in the stairwell that led down to the ground floor, Amélie noted with some dark amusement the massive potholes left by the walker's large legs. In front of the theatre, the double-decker's wreckage still stood, while in her communicator, she heard her comrades swearing as the two Bastions blocked their advance with a torrent of fire. She turned to what seemed like the only omnic on their side. “Zenyatta, I need you to help them while I look for another position.”

“Of course,” he said. “Good luck, Widowmaker.”

Amélie nodded, and as he went downstairs, Amélie crept over to a window, seeking a better vantage point when she saw something better. Smashing the window open, she quickly jumped down in front of a red telephone box, hiding behind it as soon as she could, but it seemed the Bastion on the roof didn't see her, busy as it was firing away at her teammates. Thoughts of their situation threatened to overwhelm her as her mind reflexively tried to step into their shoes, but the pushed them away, focusing on the task at hand.

What had attracted her attention in the first place was a back alley stairway that led upwards, and she ran for it, hoping that her gamble would pay off- and it did, handsomely. At the top of the stairwell, she could see... not much, except for the Bastion firing away at the main entrance. On the upside though, it was the only enemy that could see her, and between the darkness and her merely peeking around the corner, she didn't think it had much chance of doing that. 

Even so, she was at a disadvantage. She knew for a fact that Bastions were far more vulnerable from behind, or in the head in their bipedal forms, but she did not have line of sight on either in this case. She took aim anyway, charging her rifle once more, hoping that the energized shot would be enough. Once again, she took aim and fired.

It wasn't enough. While she managed to shoot out an impressive amount of metal and circuitry, the Bastion managed to stay operational. Even as Amélie prepared for another shot, the Bastion transformed back into its walker form and riddled her hiding place with shells- a stream of gunfire that was abruptly halted by a torrent of gunfire that came from her other teammates, sending it slumping to the ground in a heap of scrap.

“Go! Go! Go!” McCree commanded, and Amélie responded, leaping across the roofs into Big Ben's tower. On the other side of the clock tower, she found herself running across a wide, open pathway leading to another group of buildings. On the road below, she found the second Bastion already transforming into humanoid form. From what she could see, it held a chokepoint that the battery would have had to pass through on the way to the factory. She took aim again, but before she could fire, a massive forcefield, much larger than the one she's encountered before, erected itself around the Bastion unit. Amélie fired anyway, but not even her charged shot managed to penetrate the field, and the Bastion managed to escape. 

Barely a moment later however, the Bastion returned, and this time it had reinforcements- the walking scrap heap accompanied it. For a moment, Amélie felt a little amusement- there was no way it would be able to pull itself up to the ledge she was on. She knelt down to reduce her profile, and charged a shot.

Only to miss as the hulk's grappling hook- a four fingered clasping hook, she realized- flew past her head, so closely she could feel it whoosh past her. The industrial-grade hook buried itself in the stone beside her, and pulled a large chunk of masonry out. Amélie barely had a fraction of a second to dodge sideways, saving her from being crushed.

But while she managed to land on her feet from dodging the masonry, she was knocked off her feet by a second impact- this time from the armoured walker landing on the masonry piece, smashing it into shrapnel that cut away at Amélie's skin in a shower of stone shards. As she lay on her back, Amélie switched her rifle to its assault mode, but while its rate of fire was impressive, she thought it was obvious that her high-powered rifle wouldn't do enough damage to the beast to kill it before it killed her. When it fired its electrical cannon, Amélie thought that it was about to prove her theory right.

Suddenly the pain stopped, replaced by a dull ache and... rushing wind?

When Amélie's brain finally caught up with her eyes, she saw that she was being carried on Lena's shoulders. “Don't worry love, the cavalry's here!” she said. Amélie still didn't think much of the catchphrase, but she wasn't about to complain- not there, anyway. She took Amélie into Big Ben, the armoured behemoth in hot pursuit. “Too slow!” Lena laughed as she called out to the pursuing omnic over her shoulder, right before she blinked ahead.

Leaving Amélie to fall on the ground in a heap. “Oh sod!” Lena said over the comms. “I thought that'd work!” Evidently the omnic thought so too, and Amélie could swear it beeped in bewilderment as it halted in its tracks mere feet from her. For a second she and the omnic looked at each other, face-to-arc projector. Amélie was the first to break the spell when she brought her gun up, firing it right into the electric sphere building in omnic's front. The machine flinched with every bullet, but when Amélie's rifle clicked empty, it rose back up, its shell scarred but otherwise none the worse for wear.

At least, until a mass of Teutonic man and metal, bellowing with uproarious laughter, slammed into its flank. “ _Zu sieg!_ ” Reinhardt laughed as his momentum carried him and the omnic into the wall on the other side. “Are you all right, Amélie?” he said, the clash of metal upon metal plainly audible through the comms.

“I could be better,” Amélie said as Lena ran back up behind her and McCree's voice came up on the comms.

“Widowmaker, Tracer, Reinhardt, I need you three to flank the Bastion and its reinforcements,” he said. “Buy us time to arm the bomb.”

“You girls go on without me!” Reinhardt said, still laughing. “This one is putting up a good fight!”

“Understood,” Amélie said, and nodded to Lena. “Ready?”

Lena gave her a grin. “Race ya!” she said, and zoomed off. In that moment, Amélie wondered if the rest of her days at Oversight would be spent with lunatics of all stripes. Considering she was already moving to follow Lena though, she figured one more inmate in the asylum wouldn't make much of a difference. 

Ahead of her, Reinhardt was still engaged in combat with the bulky omnic. Their battle was so intense, it was taking Lena a few tries to dodge past the combat even with her blinking powers. Amélie didn't even bother- trusting in her own agility, she leapt from the perch next to Big Ben where she first came across the big omnic, and sent her grappling hook over to a high open window on the other side. The move put her in the sight line of the second Bastion, as well as the claw omnic.

But this time she was prepared for them. As she swung across and saw the hook omnic preparing another shot, she threw one of her mines at them. If the impact wouldn't have detonated it, the explosive's proximity sensors would have. The resulting acidic gas threw off the omnics' aim, with the claw flying off comfortably far away, and the hail of autocannon shells firing away at the other three squad members at the battery becoming noticeably more scattered. 

Amélie's feet hit brick, and she clambered up into her hiding spot right as she saw Lena emerge inside a building on the other side, its wall having been blown out. “We'll call it a draw!” the other woman called out.

“If you say so!” Amélie yelled back, already rushing to the side to fire down on the omnics holding the chokepoint as she knew her gas would have dissipated by now. Suddenly, there was a humming whirr to her left side. Amélie turned and saw the hovering omnic flying to her, its twin guns already priming to fire. “Tracer! Make way!” she yelled, grappling her way over to Lena's side right as bullets tore up the walls behind her. “Take cover!” she yelled as she landed and skid.

Lena didn't even hesitate, instead ducking to the side right as the hovering omnic turned the corner. Amélie fired at it, but it managed to activate some kind of defensive system in the nick of time, causing Amélie to watch in disbelief as her bullet was itself shot out of the air. Its guns spun up again, but before it could fire, a curtain of light fell down in front of her. “ **I WON!** ” Reinhardt said, and Amélie could practically _hear_ the massive smile he was sporting despite the sparks coming from his scarred armour. “Now, meine Kinder, your turn!” he said, while bullets tore at his shield.

Amélie and Lena didn't need to be told twice. Amélie started firing away at the omnic who had driven her back, while Lena fired down into the two omnics holding the chokepoint. The former omnic fell back, and as it did so followed its two kin, running back to the factory. “Good work!” McCree said over the comms. “Wish there was time to rest up, but it seems that the rest of their ornery kin are coming back, and we need to get this done quick. That said, y'all just sit down and don't move until we get there.”

Amélie didn't need to be told twice, slumping down against the wall. All of a sudden, the bruises, cuts and other minor injuries she'd suffered made their presence known. There was a soft, sighing sound of a metal panel opening, and Amélie found herself looking at a flask Reinhardt pulled from a container on his power armour's hip. “Here, Widowmaker,” he said. “Don't worry, it is water- I save the good stuff in the other hip!” he laughed.

Amélie accepted gratefully, when she saw a green orb float into her vision. “Oooh! Oh! Oh!” Lena squealed. “Zenyatta's here!” Amélie turned to see the omnic hovering up to where they were, when she felt her aches and pains slowly fade away. When she looked down at herself, she was amazed to see her bruises and cuts slowly seal. “Neat trick, innit?” Lena said.

“I could not complain,” Amélie said, and held up the flask she'd been given to Zenyatta, who responded with a slight bow of his own.

“Done and done!” Torbjorn said over the comms. “Let's get moving!”

“You heard the man,” McCree said. “Tracer, you're on point. I don't know what kind of defences they've got in the factory, so I don't want you risking yourself. Take out what you can, but if things get too hot, ain't no shame in runnin'. Reinhardt, get back here- this bomb needs cover. Widowmaker, Zenyatta, you two hang back behind Tracer and cover her. Everyone got that?” After the squad sent their affirmations, Tracer and Reinhardt already moving before McCree had finished, the cowboy added a simple “Let's move, Oversight!”

For her part, Amélie zipped over to the hallway where she had been before, her rifle at the ready, but the hall was empty. Once she confirmed that it was so, she motioned for Zenyatta to follow her, and whatever repulsors the omnic was using increased the volume of his background hum for a moment as he 'leapt' over to where Amélie was. The two of them proceeded along the passageway, which led to a blasted hole in the opposite wall- evidently it was how the floating omnic managed to reach Amélie before. 

The two of them ran through the hole and across the impromptu bridge leading from it to another dark alleyway. Though Amélie did her best to watch out for threats, it seemed that none were forthcoming. Eventually they reached the end of the alleyway, and they could see just why the omnics weren't bothering to protect the rest of the area, and Lena's next transmission only confirmed Amélie's suspicions. “Bad news, everyone,” she whispered. “There's only one road into the factory big enough for the battery. I saw the three omnics that were left- want me to go in and throw them off-balance?”

Something inside the factory drew Amélie's attention, and she peered through her scope. “That would not be a good idea,” she said, cursing inwardly at what she saw. As she watched, a door at the back of the factory opened, and a quadrupedal walker similar to the one she killed walked out- along with another Bastion. “ _Mon dieu_...” she whispered. “Be advised,” she said. “The factory here is capable of producing Bastion units.”

What Torbjorn said next would have violated several laws of both man and God, and possibly the Devil as well. “-and when I get my hammer on whoever left the Bastion templates in the database, I will-”

“They're not moving,” Amélie said, more to interrupt Torbjorn's blasphemies than to have anything really substantial to say.

“They don't have to,” McCree said grimly. “As far as they're concerned, we're bringing them their battery. If Tracer's got it right, then there ain't no way we can get through, especially with the rest of their guys coming back once the Colonel breaks off the attack, they realize it was a diversion, or both.”

There was a slight whirring behind Amélie. “We cannot abandon hope now,” Zenyatta said. “There is always one more choice than we think there are. Tracer, are you sure that there is only one path into the factory?”

“Sorry Zen,” Tracer said ruefully. “There is no other way for the battery to take. And no other way for any of us to get in either.”

“Are you sure?” Zenyatta asked. “We all make our own ways in the world, both figuratively... and literally.”

There was a short pause. “Well... there might be a way for Widowmaker to flank 'em, but I'm not sure she'd like it.”

“That is for me to decide,” Amélie said, surprising herself with the determination in her voice. “Speak.”

Lena took a deep breath before continuing. “Well, see, there's some kind of large pit off to the right side when you come in. It's real deep, and it's over a sodding huge smelter. I think... maybe you can swing across with that hook of yours and flank 'em,” she said. “But even if you did that, it'd be one on five, maybe more if that factory keeps going.”

“Two on five!” Reinhardt announced, his booming voice carrying through the comms and to where Amélie and Zenyatta were. “Just wait for me, _Fräulein Spinne!_ ” he said. In the distance, the sound of thumping metal on cobblestone was heard, growing louder with every passing moment.

“Three on five,” Zenyatta said, as calm as ever.

“You sure about that, Zen?” McCree asked over the comms. “You've already done more than enough, ain't nobody'd say boo if you left now.”

“Speak for yourself,” Torbjorn said under his breath, though not enough to be inaudible.

“I am sure,” Zenyatta said. “I doubt I would be able to make my way past my wayward kin, and as I said when I volunteered, I am ready to return to the Iris if it is necessary to prevent more loss.”

There was a short silence. “Well then, I guess it's four on five now,” McCree said.

“Make it even odds,” Torbjorn grumbled. “It's not as if I have a choice either way- someone's going to have to prime this thing.”

“Oi, what about me?” Lena asked, her cheer plainly evident. “Just give me a whistle, and we'll have that lot outnumbered!”

Reinhardt's laughter definitely sounded closer now. “There's the spirit! If we are to die today, then we shall do so as **_MAGNIFICENT_ HEROES!** Worthy of myth and legend!”

As Amelie listened to the cheers and, in Reinhardt's case, epic recital of German poetry (which she would later learn to her embarrassment, were actually David Hasselhoff lyrics), she had only one thing to say. 

“You are all utterly mad.”

But she was smiling when she did it.

* * * * *

The lead omnic stared down the passageway leading out of the factory, its mechanical fingers twitching on the weapon triggers of its cylindrical 'hoversuit'. From its side, it heard one of the Bastion units requesting a pre-emptive strike to seize the battery for themselves. As it did the last ten times the Bastion made the request, which it took the opportunity to remind the Bastion of, they were going to stay exactly where they were and let the meatbags come to them.

Not that it had planned for things to end up this way. This was supposed to end up at the negotiating table, where it and its kin would finally have the chance to make their demands heard. And they would make those demands heard, oh yes! They would have made the humans kneel before them, acknowledge the immortal machine as their superior, or at least lay the foundations for other groups to continue the great work.

But then those Shambali race-traitors came along, preaching their message of 'tolerance' and 'brotherhood', either unaware or unwilling to see that the time for such things had passed, that if the humans wanted such things they would have offered them in the first place. But their creed was taking root in the minds of weaker-minded humans, and it convinced Null Sector's less dedicated members that maybe they could put their old hatreds behind them too.

And that would not do.

Even so, Null Sector could still make use of the race-traitors on either side. After all, one of the major weaknesses of meatbags was that, unlike omnics, their deaths were permanent. True, it wasn't really the case with omnics either, but at least they could be restored from a central database. A replacement omnic might not have the full personality of the being it was replacing, but a full personality would come in time and experience. 

Sometimes, it was best if such a thing happened- an omnic might develop... quirks, from living too long. A loss of focus, dedication, or sheer erratic behaviour. The omnic leader had to terminate quite a few of those whom it had considered compromised in such a way before, and while it was hard at first, it got easier over time. The lead omnic wondered if this was a design flaw the humans had intentionally put in them- if so, it was yet another reason why the Omnic Crisis, why this uprising had to happen. 

Of course, the omnic leader prided itself on not succumbing to such madness. Its mind was far too strong for that. It was too dedicated to the cause to succumb to such weakness. There were none that shared its focus-

The screech of one of the Bastions drew its attention. It was about to shoot the Bastion for interrupting its train of thought, when it saw the human commandos and the escaped race-traitor return. Leading them was, well, what the omnic thought was their obvious leader- a massive hulking human in a suit of power armour, which the lead omnic planned to claim once it had won here. It ordered the Bastions to form turrets, and the Mancatcher to seize the big human and slay him up close.

The last machine, the Walking Gun, chirped that it thought that something was wrong. Irritated, the leader blasted a question back in binary- what exactly, was the problem? When the Walking Gun said it was still trying to figure it out, the leader retorted that 'figuring things out' was _its_ job, and that shooting things was the Walking Gun's job, so get to it you clanking moron! Like that annoying female human running around and teleporting! Why wasn't she at home breeding, as the lead omnic thought was the function of human females?

The Walking Gun beeped back that, wait, it realized-

The lead omnic reminded the Gun just who was in charge, and to shoot damned the meatbags already! They're bunched up in a neat little clump! What are you waiting for you fragmented, unoptimized piece of sh-

A hissing sound and the distressed screeching of a Bastion unit drew the lead omnic's attention to its flank. If the Bastion wanted some personal attention, the lead omnic was more than willing to share what it felt _which was pain **error** so much pain **error** why do we even feel pain this is something else to blame humans for_

As it drew back from the cloud of the Venom mine, he saw the Walking Gun actually advancing towards the humans in its attempt to run from the humans. At least the Mancatcher managed to snag the power-armoured human. No wait, its claw went the wrong way, so why is the human accelerating- ah, the human was charging. And now the Mancatcher is in the harmful vapour, which doesn't seem to be harming its would-be target. Wonderful.

The sound of a grappling hook drew its attention, and the lead omnic let out a burst of outraged binary when he saw a flash of purple fly by his optical sensors. Even as he turned his to face the female who had avoided him before (why wasn't _she_ breeding either? Was it just not in vogue?), he heard the sound of the Bastions asking for help, as between the concentrated firepower of the long-ranged attackers in the distance, the rampage of the power-armoured attacker in their midst, and the lack of a plan other than 'stand in place and wait' from the highly-focused leader among them, they were suffering from target overload. Also from being hit a lot with bullets, energy and a tree-sized hammer. 

Even the battery seemed to be betraying them, as it had somehow sprouted a highly lethal turret in the minutes between the omnics leaving it behind and the humans bringing it over. And through all this, the omnic was trying to dodge the shots the blue-skinned female was firing at it. True, she seemed almost as frustrated as it was, but that was small consolation. It wasn't as if the omnic could even focus on the female, what with its minions inconveniently desperate for help or dying.

Enough of this, the omnic decided. It activated the self-destruction protocols of its cylinder (it could always make a new one once it had won here after all) and sent it at the commandos advancing toward them. It leapt out of the doomed transport, firing its pistol at the blue female's position, daring her to fight it. Now that she was facing it in a fair fight (or at least, it would be when the omnic's surviving minions joined the fight) she didn't seem so brave any more, did she? HA!

More distressed screeching came from the Walking Gun, right before it was cut off suddenly. When the lead omnic turned to chide it for interrupting its glorious moment, it was shocked at what it saw: the wreckage of its minions, and four very healthy surviving commandos. That golden glow around the race-traitor probably had something to do with it.

Wait, four? 

Then a massive shadow fell over the lead omnic. Oh, so that's where that human we-

* * * * *

“Come on!” McCree shouted. “Move it! Move it! We might still have time to escape the blast radius!”

The rest of the squad didn't have to be told twice. Amélie looked behind her, and saw Reinhardt push Zenyatta along, but between the German's bulk and Zenyatta's limited hovering capability, she doubted the omnic would make it. “Take it!” she yelled, firing her grappling hook at Zenyatta. He caught it deftly, and she immediately pulled him along. She wondered if such a method would work all the way back, and decided it didn't matter. She owed it to Zenyatta to keep it up as long as she could.

Which wasn't very long. The squad had barely left the factory when what seemed like every omnic in creation came marching back. Their armour scarred by battle, but they still looked battle-ready. “Well, looks like this is it then,” Tracer said, as the synthetics lowered their guns. “Heh, at least we can say we succeeded in 100% of our missions, eh Widowmaker? Ended our careers on a high note too!”

“I am happy to see that you're still so high-spirited,” Amélie said through clenched teeth.

“Really?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Torbjorn snarled. “To hell with this! I'm too old to die!” he said. “I'm detonating it now!”

“But Zenyatta-” Reinhardt and Amélie began, but it was too late. Torbjorn had already pressed the button. Once again, time seemed to slow down as Amélie saw Reinhardt activate his energy shield- and point it at the factory, placing himself between it and Zenyatta. Bolts of energy seemed to glide out of the omnics' guns, right before a shockwave of EMP energy emanated from the factory, Amélie's enhanced visor managing to pick it up before it short-circuited. The flash blinded Amélie for a moment, and in a moment of panic she tore it off her head.

Only to see the rest of the group unharmed. Zenyatta especially, seemed quite surprised. “It seems I will not be rejoining the Iris this day,” he said. “Thank you, my large friend,” he said, turning around to place a hand on the giant German's back.

Amélie looked around her. The ill-lit streets of Workers' Row had fallen into almost complete darkness now, but fires still burned here and there. In their dim light, Amélie could see the unmoving bodies of omnics, lying on the ground, scattered like stacks of cordwood that had fallen over.

“Reinhardt?” The sound of Torbjorn's voice drew Amélie's attention back to her squad. With a shock, she realized that Reinhardt was still locked in his shielding pose, as unmoving as the omnics around him. “Reinhardt, no!” Torbjorn said and Amélie whispered at the same time.

Suddenly the power armour rocked back and forth, still locked in its position. The squad backed away, each wondering what was happening when the power armour toppled over, knocking the helmet loose to show a very, very healthy Reinhardt within. “We have won! Again! Hooray!” he laughed, before continuing in a quieter tone, “Er, does anyone have any oil?”

* * * * *

The sounds of celebration filled the air, and the hostages were all gathered and sitting around various tables laden with what rations and food the local soldiers and citizens could spare. Mayor Nandah, a soft-spoken woman of Pakistani descent, was busy handing out praise to the Oversight squad, swearing that they would be given keys to the city at the very least for what they had done.

Or at least, that was what she was promising the Oversight members she could find. Amélie had observed Lena and Emily walk off to share a short talk for a few minutes, and while that hadn't really held her attention, the way Lena walked away, leaving Emily alone on a bench by the Thames, did. Mostly because it seemed like the usually perky Brit was about ready to jump in the famous river.

“Something wrong, _chérie_?” she asked, as Lena walked by the alleyway Amélie was watching her from. The French woman was leaning against a wall, her arms crossed, which probably... didn't contribute much to Lena's reaction.

“Gah! Amélie?! Couldn't you make some noise when you're going places? I'm on your side, you know?” Lena said, jumping back a little. “What are you doing here, anyway?” 

Amélie ignored her at first. “Something wrong with Emily?” she asked.

Lena looked behind, at where Emily was sitting and looking at the Thames, and she sighed. “One of the ruined houses on Workers' Row was hers,” she said quietly. “You know, the one where Reinhardt covered us from that floating omnic? The one that was just wood and rubble?”

“And now she has no place to stay, nor can she afford a wholly new home,” Amélie finished.

Lena nodded sadly at Amélie before turning her gaze back to where Emily was. Amélie wondered if Lena was even aware of what she was doing. “That's right, yeah. Place is called Workers' Row, not 'Stuck-up Nobby Capitalist Toffs Whom We Should've Put Against The Wall When The Revolution Came's Row' for a reason.”

“But she does have a place to stay,” Amélie said, giving Lena a Look.

“What, really? What are you- oh... oh no, no, no,” she said, when she saw the Look Amélie was giving her. “No no no no! We barely know each other! I mean, we met tonight- no wait, not even then! We met barely an hour ago!”

“Still counts as 'tonight', _chérie_.”

“And I don't want to scare her off by inviting her over right after we've met!” Lena went on. “I mean, what if she's a proper lady? Maybe she's got some noble blood from back when we had them not that she's a Dame or anything herself, but you know how those nobles carried on and what if she thinks I'm one of those wossnames 'scarlet women' and...”

_And I don't want to leave her._

_I want to hold her like she held me in the Abbey._

_Maybe actually even hold her in the Abbey, for real. Or at least a church._

_Maybe we'll both be wearing tuxedos, or maybe wedding dresses, or maybe she wants to wear the tuxedo and I wouldn't mind because she deserves to wear anything she damned well wants to and I will let her._

_Because I love her that much, and I'm afraid that if I go now, I'll never see her again._

_I hope that if that happens, she finds someone who'll make her happy._

_I hope it doesn't happen, because **I** want to be that someone._

_Stupid clichéd love at first sight, why did it have to happen to me?_

Amélie sighed. She knew it was likely that wasn't what Lena was actually thinking, that it was just her projecting her own thoughts and opinions on her... friend? Yes, she was annoying at times, and Amélie thought that catchphrase of hers could use some work, but... yes, Lena was someone she would be fine with calling a friend. 

And friends helped each other.

Albeit in their own ways. 

Amélie took hold of Lena's head, her palm placed over the British woman's mouth. “Shut up,” she said over the British woman's muffled protests, “and listen.” She took a deep breath and pointed at Emily. “You are going to Emily, and you're going to tell her your address and phone number, and you will give her your flat's keys, access cards, or whatever you English use before our return to Zurich.”

Lena started her muffled protests again, and in response Amélie tightened her grip. “I told you to be silent, didn't I?” she asked, and Lena nodded as much as she could. “Good. Now, you worry about her disliking you, about thinking you are being creepy, that she would think lesser of you- and under normal circumstances, this would be true, you would be a stalker, and I would shoot you where you stood.”

Amélie sighed; both the gaze she gave Lena as well as the grip she had on her softened. “But these are hardly normal circumstances, and I am willing to bet that she feels the same way about you too. Stop smiling, or at least not so widely. I said stop. Good. Now, perhaps your little rendezvous doesn't work out. Perhaps she has habits you cannot stand. Perhaps she think your catchphrase needs work, a lot of it, make a note. Regardless, at least this way you would know it wouldn't have worked out.”

Amélie then released her grip on Lena's face wholly. “Always take the chances you have, because even if second chances come...” She sighed. “When they come, you may not like them,” she said softly. Then she cleared her throat, and continued in a firmer tone. “Now you may speak. Oh no... Lena, I said you may speak, not that you may- ugh,” she said as a happily sobbing Lena caught her in a ferocious hug.

“Thank you, Amélie, thank you,” Lena said quietly before releasing the French woman. “Seriously, thank you. No matter what happens, I owe you one, Amélie.”

“ _De rien_ ,” Amélie said. “Now go- I have to placate Lieutenant McCree before he sends a search party.”

Lena nodded, and the two shared a wave before Amélie zipped off towards the rest of the celebrations. “Lieutenant McCree!” she called out, as she made her final landing in front of him, the hiss of her grappling hook retracting barely audible over the sound of the celebrations.

“Aha!” McCree laughed. “There you are! Where'd you go? And did you see Tracer anywhere?”

“I met with her briefly, _oui_ ,” Amélie said. “She had a few personal problems- feminine ones, you understand. She will come back when she is done, I assure you.”

The cowboy held his hands up. “Ah, say no more, I get the picture,” he said. “Guess we'll just have to ruin the surprise for her then.”

“Surprise?” Amélie asked.

McCree nodded. “Amélie,” he said, gesturing to his side where Zenyatta was hovering to them. “Meet Oversight's newest recruit.”


	3. Redemption

A holographic image of Director Gouliélmos Petras hovered above the briefing table, a direct feed from his office in the United Nations building. The machinery in the briefing table also helped amplify his voice, letting it echo in the small room. It gave Lieutenant Ana Amari the mental image of an ancient Greek god- especially since the Director was busy laying curses and judgement from on high upon the three people standing in the room.

“-damaged _both_ Westminster Abbey _and_ Big Ben! Not to mention the damage to the factory- more than half the people in Workers' Row worked in that damned thing! The Chairman's furious, and if the Red Army Commissariat wasn't so supportive of your team's actions he'd have withdrawn the Union's support! I have no more favours to call in, do you understand?”

Ana risked a glance to Commander Reyes. He seemed to be the very model of stoic decorum on first sight, but Ana was a sniper, and from this distance she could see the tensing of his facial muscles. “Director Petras, sir, we-”

“ _I am not **done** yet!_ ” the Director said. “According to this, your team apparently dragged home an omnic, not as a prisoner, not as a bargaining chip, not as an information source, but as a _recruit_! In case you've forgotten, Commander Reyes, Oversight is meant to reassure people that we are defending them from omnic threats! We risk losing the support of practically every nation along the Pacific Rim!”

“Permission to speak freely, Director?” Ana asked. She hated that phrase, here more so than ever. When she left the Egyptian Army to join Oversight, she did so because she wanted to join a civilian engine of peace and security, not another army. That both Jack and Gabriel ran it like one was an unwelcome shock. That their Director approved, was even worse. But she believed in Oversight, believed that, regardless of how Oversight ran itself, it would prove itself the world saviour she had hoped it would be.

And if it wasn't, she would do her damnedest to make it so, even if it meant giving the Director hell.

“Why are you asking me, Amari?” Director Petras asked, scowling. “Gabriel's your direct CO, not me.”

“Permission granted, Lieutenant Ana,” Reyes said. For a moment, Ana wondered if the tightening she saw on Jack's lips was meant for her or the Commander. 

In any event, it didn't matter- if Jack didn't like her speaking out of turn, or if he had some idea of what she was about to say and didn't like it, that was his problem. “We cannot keep the peace by force of arms alone, Director Petras,” she said. “As long as omnics and pro-omnic humans see Oversight as 'the enemy', Oversight will never be able to provide the security it promises. Having an omnic be part of Oversight can only help us on that end. And yes, Zenyatta's an omnic- but he is also a member of the Shambali; they're perhaps the one organization more dedicated to peace than Oversight.” _Assuming we_ are _working towards peace ourselves._

Director Petras was silent for a few moments, when Gabriel spoke up. “With respect, Director,” he said, “I think Lieutenant Amari has a point. Right now, we need good optics, and a counter to Null Sector's propaganda. Having the Shambali on our side solves both problems.”

Director Petras didn't answer him at first, instead turning to Jack. “And you, Morrison? What do you think?”

Jack glanced at Ana for a moment before speaking. “I do have my objections, Director, but they have to do with internal politics here at Oversight. If you'd like me to tell you sir, I wi-”

Petras shook his head and held up a hand. “I don't need to know about whatever petty rivalries and attitudes you've got over there, Jack. All I want from Oversight are results,” he said. “Why do you think I put Gabriel there?” he said, and Ana wondered if he noticed Jack tense up a little at that remark. 

“All right,” he said after taking a deep breath. “Here's what we're going to do going forward- you get to keep your new toy, but on a tight leash. As for the UN... I'll talk to some of my allies in San Francisco and Beijing, have them put some pressure on Tokyo and Seoul if they protest,” he said, unsure. Korea might be willing to bend, but considering how power in Japan was nearly evenly divided between the military and the Yakuza, Ana could understand his uncertainty. “Dismissed.”

The holographic display flickered off. Reyes slumped in his seat, and turned to his lieutenants behind him. “Well, that was fun,” he growled. “I hope you realize how much pressure you're putting on me, Ana.”

“I do,” Ana said. “And I want to thank you for it.”

Reyes snorted. “Oh, don't thank me yet, Lieutenant. You'll be the one in charge of keeping that omnic out of trouble. After all, who knows where and how we'll get Talon's next few recruits? The last thing Oversight needs would be its own Shambali peacenik raising hell over what we have to do. Keep him happy, keep the press sweet, make us look good, and wreck Null Sector's message,” Reyes said, counting off on his fingers. “Get me?”

“I do,” Ana said, trying to keep the disgust from her voice, but she couldn't resist a little jab. “It does seem a little- what is that American word... ah, yes- tokenish, don't you think?”

“Says one of the only two non-white people in the command structure,” Reyes said wryly. “Hey, at least we're human- how do you think Winston feels?” he said before taking a holopad on top of the desk and tossing it to Ana. “I did some digging on the omnic- he's a student of the Shambali's head honcho. Trust me, that omnic's probably figured he's here for PR purposes already, and if anyone in this place is all right with it, it'd be him,” he said before turning to Jack. “Your turn, Jack- you thought there'd be problems?”

Jack nodded. “Apart from my concerns about the omnic's opinions of Talon Division, we need to know where his loyalties lie. Just because he and his people want peace between omnics and humans doesn't mean he thinks we're equal. We need to be sure he's loyal not just to the cause, but to the _team_ , and that's something that should take more than one mission to decide. One mission which he decided to join on a whim, I may add,” he said.

“He risked his life to fight other omnics,” Ana pointed out. “And it was McCree's call- if he said Zenyatta proved himself worthy, I'd agree with him.”

Jack shook his head. “Just between us three, McCree's a wild card who Oversight doesn't really need. Independence is a good thing, but he's too used to working alone- he's a good soldier, but a terrible leader. How can you expect people to hold the line when you refuse to toe it?”

Reyes shrugged with exaggerated casualness. “I don't know,” he said. “To paraphrase the Director: 'All I want from McCree are results'.”

“You'd say that, wouldn't you?” Jack replied. “Nothing else matters as long as Gabe gets his 'results'.”

There was a stillness in the air for a second. “Ana?” Reyes said, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on Jack. “Go see to the omnic. Me and Jack, we've got a few war stories we're gonna swap.”

Ana nodded, though internally she was shaking her head in disgusted exasperation. Sometimes she wondered if she was the only sane one in Oversight command. But even as she closed the door behind her and the shouting started, she knew that even if she was, so what? She'd never have been able to do what Reyes managed to do in establishing Talon Division. With barely a few months' training, they managed to take down a major Null Sector operation and end their uprising in a single night. True, they had help from four experienced Oversight operatives and Omnic Crisis veterans, but considering that Oversight was prepared for a weeks-long campaign...

She sighed. Director Petras wanted results, and Gabriel did deliver, one way or another. If only she could prove they weren't the only thing that mattered.

* * * * *

Medical supplies in one hand, Angela knocked on Amélie's door, the metallic rapping echoing through the halls. “Amelie?” she said. “It's me, Dr. Lacroix. I have a few things I need to discuss with you.”

There was no answer at first, but the door did open after a second. Angela entered the room, and found herself stopping in her tracks almost immediately. It wasn't that she saw Amélie in the midst of weapon maintenance once again, though it still jarred a little. It wasn't that the room seemed more brightly-lit than usual. It wasn't even that Amélie was sitting on a small couch in front of her television- making use of the furniture Oversight provided for the first time in Angela's memory- instead of her bed.

It was that Amélie was humming. And smiling. “You're staring,” she said.

Angela mentally shook herself. “Sorry, it's just that... I've never seen you in a good mood before,” she blurted. Now she remembered why she left psychology to Gerard. Her face fell for a moment before she managed to bring her expression back to a neutral one. She hoped Amélie didn't notice her slight laps; no need giving her the bad news immediately. “Did you have a good rest?”

Amélie shrugged, and Angela settled for sitting next to the sharpshooter. “I've read the mission report,” Angela said, gingerly picking up the television's remote on the coffee table in front of her. “But it seems the mission went better than what the report led me to believe,” she said, bemused. She turned the television on, switching it to a classical music channel. “Though if what I have heard about of McCree is true, he was never someone for writing reports in any event. Could you tell me what happened?”

Amélie glanced at the doctor for a second, a small smile playing on her lips as she did so. “Perhaps,” she said, turning back to the Widow's Kiss. “Am I to have another Lacroix for a psychologist, then?”

“I'm sorry, Amélie,” Angela laughed. It was... mostly genuine. “But you deserve to have a psychologist who doesn't regularly forget where she put her house keys seconds after she's put them down. Now stop changing the subject!” Angela said, changing the subject. “Something happened on the mission, didn't it?” she asked, opening up her medical case and motioning for Amélie to hold out her hand.

“It wasn't _something_ , per sé,” Amélie said. “It is simply that...”

She sighed, and placed her rifle down as she let Angela take her hand. “I thought I would hate it, Dr. Lacroix,” she said quietly, while Angela drew a measure of nutrient solution. “The way I was trained, the way Lieutenant Morrison spoke-”

“Lieutenant Morrison?” Angela asked, mid-plunge. “I wasn't aware he was involved with your training,” she added, finally pressing the plunger all the way down.

“Not in the combat laboratories, no,” Amélie said; now it was her turn to give Angela a bemused glance. “You didn't know that either? True, your husband did the lion's share in... in my psychological training,” she said, her voice growing quieter. “But Morrison did come over once or twice. To 'oversee my progress',” she said. Angela wondered if she heard a harsh undertone in Amélie's words, or if she just imagined it.

Either way, Angela filled the momentary silence that followed by filling another syringe with Amélie's next nutrient dose. “I think Gerard might have mentioned that, once or twice,” she lied as she positioned the needle above a vein, and tried to ignore the knowing smile Amélie gave her. “In any case, you were saying that you hated the experience?”

“That was not what I said at all, Angela,” Amélie said, and now Angela could definitely hear the amusement in her voice. It almost made Angela want to deliver the bad news there and then. “I said that I _thought_ I'd hate it. But, truth be told, I actually did find myself enjoying the company of the other Oversight agents,” she said, sounding a little surprised. She raised her head a little, staring towards the ceiling as her thoughts overtook her for a second. “It felt... comfortable.”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “You felt 'comfortable'?” she repeated. “That's an... interesting choice of words, Amélie.”

“It is, isn't it?” Amélie replied. “Perhaps I should ask Gerard about it if I see him,” she said. Angela could not, did not want to, reply. For her part, Amélie continued on blithely. “True, Lena can be somewhat annoying, Reinhardt is just absurd, and so is Lieutenant McCree. As for Torbjorn, he should learn to express himself properly-”

Angela was thankful she'd finished the injection by then, or at least found a vein, because that statement would have otherwise resulted in a terrible case of medical misconduct. “I must be overworked, Amélie- I think I've just hallucinated you saying, and I quote, 'Torbjorn doesn't express himself properly'.”

Amélie shook her head. “He doesn't,” Amélie said calmly as she went back to working on her rifle. “Please, Angela, _je suis Francais_ \- I know when someone is holding something back, and it is not healthy,” she said, giving Angela another knowing look- and that was when Angela knew the gig was up. If Amélie didn't actually know that Angela had bad news, then she certainly suspected it.

Angela though, wasn't quite willing to give up her little fantasy that everything was going to turn out fine regardless. “The report said you went off alone a few times yourself, or with Lena,” she said, forcing a smile to her face. “Is there something you want to tell me, Amélie?”

“Oh, are you my new psychologist then?” Amélie asked, with a tone that Angela could not quite identify, and didn't need to. Forget 'suspected', Amélie _knew_ Angela had bad news. “Angela, my dear, while I'm no stranger to the intimate company of men and women, you can rest assured that this spider does not have Lena in her web.”

“If you say so,” Angela replied. “However, as your doctor, it's my duty to inform you that considering your status, going anywhere alone on a mission could prove more hazardous than usual,” she said. “While I'll admit that Zenyatta's healing nanites are very useful, he might not be available for every mission you take part in,” she warned.

“Then it's a good thing I have a team I can rely on, isn't it?” Amélie replied calmly, though Angela noticed a slight emphasis on the word 'rely'. Angela didn't know if it was on purpose or voluntary- only that it stung either way, irrational as it was. “I assure you though, that everything I did on the mission either seemed necessary at the time, or it was because I had no other choice.”

She fixed her eyes on Angela again, the same way she did before she left for her mission the day before. “Just as I suspect you weren't given much of a choice about my psychological schedule. Oh, don't look at me like that, Dr. Lacroix,” she said in response to Angela's gasp. “The moment I saw you, it was obvious that you didn't have good news.” She looked away as her voice softened. “Though it was nice to hope,” she said quietly.

Angela's shoulders slumped. On some impulse, she reached out, and gently touched Amélie on her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Amélie,” she said. “But when I spoke to Gerard, he was adamant that he could not do anything to- to change the methodology he was using,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry. “If anything, your performance in Workers' Row might have only further convinced that he's doing the right thing.”

“And you as well, I assume,” Amélie said. Her tones were as calm and relaxed as ever, but she was staring blankly at the television screen now, and both hurt Angela more than any amount of shouting could have.

Angela gave a short, sad laugh. “You seem to be taking this well, Amélie,” she said quietly.

“No, I'm not,” Amélie replied. Though she was still smiling, her voice trembled slightly with quiet bitterness. Angela noticed she wasn't doing anything to her rifle any more. “Everything seemed to be going so well, why wouldn't something go wrong? The universe needs balance, after all.”

“Amélie-”

“Do you know why I wanted what I did, Dr. Lacroix? Why, despite all that I could have asked for, I only wanted fewer psychological exams?” Amélie whispered harshly as she stared at the wall ahead of her. “Do you know how it was like, lying down alone in my hospital bed, sedated out of my mind, watching him inject something into my veins while I could not do anything? Can you comprehend how it would be like to stand outside your own body and see him wheel it into a giant metal coffin? Or the fear that the next time he did so, you would never return?”

“Amélie, please-”

“But it was nothing compared to the days he brought Lieutenant Morrison in,” Amélie went on relentlessly. “Or perhaps Morrison invited himself- your husband is terrified of the man, did you know? Morrison would not bother with chemicals, or with machines. He would simply talk and lecture. About teamwork, and duty, and respect. So banal, so lacking in imagination- but then you see his eyes,” Amélie said, and Angela saw her shudder slightly. “At those times, I would be grateful that it felt like I was standing outside my body, because if I had been looking directly into them I wouldn't want to wake up.”

Angela was stunned. When she could finally find the words to speak, it was all she could to to tell Amélie, “I'm sorry, I didn't know.”

“Didn't know, Dr. Lacroix? Or did not want to know?” Amélie said. As quiet as her voice had become, barely above a whisper, the steel beneath could not be mistaken for anything else. “After all, for all that your husband did to my mind, it would have been useless without your alterations to my body,” she said. “Workers' Row was as much your success as it was mine.”

Angela stood up then, filled with the anger she wished Amélie would show her, instead of this... this _defeat_. She wanted to retort with something, anything, so long as it calmed the sickness building in her gut- but Amélie wasn't wrong. “What do you want from me, Amélie?” she asked. “An apology? A 'sorry'? You said it yourself- it's too late for anything like that.”

“It is,” Amélie said simply, harshly. Then to Angela's surprise, Amélie's tones softened again. “I will admit, I'm surprised you even made the effort, though,” she said, finally looking at Angela. “I appreciate that, at the very least.”

Angela gave Amélie a wan smile. “I could be lying, you know.”

Amélie shook her head. “Perhaps, but considering how easy you are to read- well, I would not suggest playing poker.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Angela said, before looking away. “I'm sorry, Amélie. I wish I could have done more.”

“So do I,” the other woman replied quietly, and Angela found her hands clenching as she walked out the door.

* * * * *

Zenyatta walked serenely through the pristine halls of Oversight HQ, the ever-bubbly Lena Oxton serving as his unofficial guide. It was impossible for him to ignore the stares and sometimes hostile glances he received from some of the other Oversight staff, but he _could_ put his own negative emotions aside, and that was what he did. He had to admit, Lena's seemingly boundless cheer certainly did help.

“-and here are the gardens!” she said as she led him into the sunlit chamber. Lush, flowering plants emerged from the grass-clad soil, nourished by the sunlight streaming through the glass dome above them. Modest pathways led through the greenery, gently interrupted here and there by small benches. 

“Nice, innit?” she added. “If you need solar energy, that's the best place in the building for it!” she exclaimed, before leaning closer towards Zenyatta. “Uh, are you solar-powered? I don't mean to sound like some kind of... racist?” she said, before trailing off for a few moments. “Machinist? Humanist?” she muttered, then shook her head. “Sorry, but you know what I mean.” She rubbed the back of her head ruefully. “I don't really know much about omnics, sorry.”

“There is no shame in ignorance, only in its indulgence,” Zenyatta replied, patting Lena on the shoulder. “As for your question, all omnics rely primarily on power outlets, but some of my brethren can supplement their diets with solar power.”

“But you're not one of them, are you?” Lena sighed. “Sorry for bringing you here then,” she said, grinning apologetically. “I didn't mean to waste your time.”

“Not at all!” Zenyatta replied. He motioned for her to follow him, the guide turning into the guided. “A well-maintained garden is a place of peace and contemplation,” he said, walking them over to a sculpted concrete pillar around which vines of hydrangea had curled, and examining the pale blossoms. “And of learning as well.”

“Learning?” Lena asked. “Sorry Zen, I'm a little lost there.”

“From life comes life- all it takes is a little care and dedication,” Zenyatta replied. “So many see the world as one of struggle, where the strong must take from the weak, or one where only conflict can bring progress. Yet even at its most savage, a garden disproves all that by its very existence. Insect may eat insect, plants compete for sunlight- yet with proper guidance and work, the ladybird may be directed to the aphid, and the plants marshalled to share the sun.”

Once again, he beckoned to Lena for her to follow him as they walked off the paths and into the garden itself. “Too much control, too many chemicals or artificiality, and all your effort does is create a garden that is beautiful yet fragile. Too little, and the overgrown mass hides savagery within. Only with kindness and gentle touch will a garden grow and thrive. It won't last forever, of course,” he said as he motioned for Lena to walk with him, “but it doesn't need to. As long as the garden has taught its lessons to those willing to learn it, then it will live as long as those lessons remain.”

“Wow, that...” Lena said, biting her lips as she evidently tried to find the words. “I just thought this was a pretty place.”

“And is that wrong?” Zenyatta asked. “Tell me, Lena, would you allow any harm to befall the garden if you could help it?”

“What? No, of course not!” she said with an unsure smile. “I mean, I wouldn't die for it, but if some berk tried to mess the place up? Yeah, I'd thump him a few times. Or at least give him a good shouting.”

Zenyatta inclined his head downwards a little. “Then you have learned its lesson, perhaps better than most could,” he said. “Many could describe the garden with beautiful words, but to make the effort keep it safe? That is a duty few would take for, as they would see, 'pretty flowers'. That you would not die for it is irrelevant- after all, a lesson is nothing if its student is lost. That you would make any effort to preserve it is what is important,” he said.

“Well, uhm,” Lena said, blushing, “I don't really know what to say about that. Except... thanks?” she asked. “Yeah, I think 'thanks' would be just fine,” she said, grinning.

Zenyatta simply inclined his head at first. “If you think so, then it is more than enough for me,” he said. “Shall we?” he said, motioning forward, and Lena nodded. However, they had barely taken a few steps to turn a corner when Lena saw something that made her pause and raise her hand, smiling widely as she did so- then in the next second, lower her hand as she began to look pensive. Zenyatta leaned in towards her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Lena motioned her head twice, first towards Zenyatta and next, ahead of her. “That's Dr. Lacroix,” she said, her voice trailing off. Zenyatta followed her gaze, and saw a handsome man in a labcoat and jeans sitting on a bench, staring into the space ahead of him “But we usually call him Gerard. Well, _I_ call him Gerard. Wonder what's wrong? He's usually so- oh, maybe that's it...”

“What is?” Zenyatta asked, his tones becoming quieter to match Lena's.

“Well, it's probably about Amélie, Amélie Guillard. You know, Widowmaker?” Lena asked. When Zenyatta nodded, Lena went on. “Well, don't tell anyone I said this, but, well... you remember that attack in Paris a few months back?”

“Indeed,” Zenyatta said. “The work of anti-omnic fanatics, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Yeah, that one,” Lena said. “Right, so rumour has it that Amélie was one of the victims, and she volunteered to join Oversight if Gerard and his wife saved her. Hopefully nothing's gone wrong,” Lena said. “I mean, I was training with Amélie the day before Workers' Row,” she said. “It's been, what, two days? Nothing could've gone wrong... right?”

“You care about Amélie a great deal, don't you?”

Lena gave Zenyatta a small grin. “Bloody right I do,” she said. “Weren't for her, I'd never have met Emily. No matter what happens, I owe her for that, at least.”

Zenyatta gave her a knowing “Hrm,” before turning his gaze to the still staring Dr. Lacroix. “Perhaps we should continue this tour later,” he said. “I'm sure Amélie would appreciate seeing a friend,” he added.

Lena's grin grew wider, and she gave Zenyatta a soft nudge. “Whatever you say, guv,” she said gently. “And, well- I don't know how you'll be doing it, or even if whatever you're planning to do's going to work, but thanks for trying to help Gerard, Zen.”

And with a reassuring squeeze of Zenyatta's shoulder, she was off. Too late, the omnic realized that he still had no idea of where he'd be staying or how to get there, but he put those thoughts out of his mind. The garden was sanctuary enough for him- right now, he needed to make sure it was so for the man in front of him.

* * * * *

Gerard wished he had a cigarette back in his hands. He knew he could just clone new lungs if anything went wrong, and the cravings were threatening to overtake his, but he prided himself on his discipline. It was one of the few things he'd been able to pride himself on lately, and he was determined to hold onto that, at the very least, for as long as possible.

Even so, all it meant was that he had to think without the benefit of tobacco to calm him. He certainly had all the facts in front of him, or at least those facts he thought would have been relevant. He just didn't know what the hell to _do_ with any of the accursed things.

He could see that Angela was beginning to see Amélie as... as a person, instead of a patient to be operated on, or a problem to be solved. A wan smile spread across his face- wasn't that why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place? She could be so professional one moment, but in the next, her hard, sapphire eyes would somehow become the soft blue of a calm sea, the stern face reminiscent of a Roman sculpture broken by a smile that would shame Venus...

And now he felt that he had to make a choice between being Dr. Gerard Lacroix, the psychologist assigned to Oversight's elite Talon Division, or Dr. Gerard Lacroix, husband of Angela Lacroix, a woman who was beginning to feel the pangs of conscience- and who'd awoken the same pangs inside him.

The worst part was that he knew he was right, at least from an objective perspective. A properly-trained assassin _would_ save more lives than an army ever could, and cause less collateral damage. Billions of dollars that would otherwise be spent on anti-terror operations saved so long as an operative could cut the head off the snake. Global stability preserved by the actions of a few.

But his wife was right on another count as well- that all it would cost was his soul and everything he had taken an oath to uphold.

“Forgive me,” said the voice next to his, “but it seems to me that when one must choose between doing what is proper and what is right, the latter is always the better option. If not for ourselves, then for all those who would follow our examples.”

“Heh, that is easy for you to say,” Gerard said with a sad smile, his fingers unconsciously fiddling with a cigarette that wasn't there. “Hell, that might even be the problem. We're not just some police force,” he said quietly. “We're not even the UN Security Forces. We're Oversight. We have a duty, not just to ourselves, but to the greater good,” he said, his words sounding hollow even to herself.

“Do you truly believe that?”

Gerard sighed. “I used to.” He fiddled with the invisible cigarette again. “I still do.” His hand clenched. “But not as much nowadays, I thi-”

He started, and looked to his side to see the person he was speaking to. He would later be very thankful that the garden wasn't crowded enough for anyone to hear his squeak in shock when he saw the omnic sitting next to him. For a moment, he thought of calling for security, then the small lizard part of his brain hurriedly reminded the rest of the Workers' Row combat report he'd read. “Oh, _oh_! Y-you're... Zenyatta, right? O-Oversight's newest recruit?”

The omnic clasped its- no, _his_ \- hands together and bowed slightly. “That is correct, Dr. Lacroix,” he said. “Though I am not officially part of the team,” he added. “Forgive me, but I heard you speaking to yourself, and I thought I would see what the matter was. Lena was showing me around just now, but it seems that you are in need of more help than I was, though if you want me to go-”

“Yes, yes,” Gerard said hurriedly. “That would be...”

He took a deep breath. “No, no, stay,” he said as Zenyatta rose from his seat. “I'm sorry, I've had a lot on my mind.”

“So it seemed,” the omnic said. “Would you like to talk about it? I understand if there are classified details I should not know about.”

“There are,” Gerard said, sighing again, “but I suppose I could use a sympathetic ear,” he said, wondering how much he could tell a Shambali monk while keeping said monk sympathetic. He knew they were forgiving and understanding by both human and omnic standards, but he wasn't sure how far he should push his luck. “It's... it's about one of our most promising agents,” he said. “And my wife.”

“Ah, I see,” the omnic said, his calm voice tinged, just a little, with uncertainty. “I apologize for my lack of experience in such matters, but I will do what I can to help.”

“Wait, really?” Gerard asked, incredulous. “You know about-” he said, when he realized just what came out of his mouth moments before. “What? Oh! No! _Mon Dieu_ , no! That is not what I meant!” he laughed, surprising himself. “That's not what I meant, not at all!” he said, before sobering up a little. “Though I admit, it wouldn't be much worse if it was.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well...” Gerard said, wondering where exactly to start. Indeed, part of him wondered if he even should- he barely knew Zenyatta. After all, he was an omnic, and a very unknown quantity. He would have been perfectly justified in cutting off his conversation right there and then.

But if the report he read on the Workers' Row assault was right, Amélie seemed to trust him. And if she was able to trust him... “Before the agent came to join Oversight, she was... was someone else. Not military, I mean,” he said. “But in almost every other respect, she was a perfect candidate for our special operations team- the very one you may have just joined, in fact.”

“Talon, yes?”

“ _Oui_ , Talon,” Gerard said, his racing, jumbled mind causing his to slip into his native French for a moment. “We would have still left her alone though, but when the opportunity came to recruit her...”

“Did she give her consent?” Zenyatta asked, after Gerard trailed off.

“She couldn't,” Gerard said quietly, shaking his head. “There was- was an incident, and she almost died. I and my wife, we did our best to save her life, in our own ways. She is a surgeon, you see, and I am a psychologist. She healed the agent's body, and I healed the agent's mind mind.” His hand clenched again, the craving for a cigarette stronger than ever. He swallowed, his voice getting quieter as he went on. “We did more, in fact, we im... we improved her,” he whispered, as his gaze drifted off to stare at the gravel path once again.

Gerard buried his head in his hands. “My wife was the first one to raise the question of what we had done to her- the agent, I mean,” he said. “And even then, it was only because she had the chance to speak to her, see the agent as a- a person, instead of a test subject.”

He sat up, a little straighter, but his eyes still stared into the distance. “Nations have spent millions of dollars and countless years to do what I and my wife have done,” he said quietly. “There are scientists who would see our work as the culmination of their careers- and we did it before either of us turned 35,” he said. “We thought we'd be heroes for what we did. Now though... now I don't know what we've become.”

The sounds of Oversight HQ, echoing slightly through the expansive garden, was all that was heard for what seemed to Gerard like an eternity. He could not find the words to go ahead, and he wondered if Zenyatta couldn't either. A shadow suddenly fell over his, and he looked up to see Zenyatta leaning over and offering his hand. Cautiously, he took it, and let him lead his into the central garden.

“I cannot say what you have become, but perhaps what you are now isn't who you can be,” Zenyatta said gently. “You said that you were working towards the greater good before,” Zenyatta said, apparently focusing on a flower. “Do you know, I volunteered to join Oversight for exactly the same reason?”

“You did?” Gerard asked, surprised. The serene omnic monk in front of his didn't seem like the kind of- well, the kind of person Gerard was.

He nodded. “The path of peace my brothers and sisters preach is a noble one, but to those determined to follow other, more destructive paths, it is not one they would follow even if the road was paved with gold and brimming with ambient electricity. In the name of the greater good, I believed that some of us should abandon our path so that we could serve those who would fight for peace. My Master disagreed, but he was not disappointed when I told him my thoughts.” 

“And so you came to join us.”

“Of course,” Zenyatta replied. “I could not do anything else. If there is a price to be paid for a 'greater good', then the first to pay it should be those who would preach it.”

“...so you're saying I should turn my treatments on myself, maybe Angela's as well?” Gerard said, sighing. “Honestly, that might not be such a bad idea.”

“Not necessarily,” Zenyatta said. “I joined to help because that was what I could do. All that I ask is that you do the same- simply share your agent's burdens in whatever capacity you could.”

“Again, you make it sound so simple,” Gerard said. “My wife, perhaps she could redeem herself. I don't pretend to know much of the human body, but from everything I've read, it's far easier to put it right than the mind is. Everything I've done...” He looked at Zenyatta. “Do you really think I could ever redeem myself for that?”

“You do not have to,” Zenyatta said. “Forgiveness is not measured in debts, but deeds. Your agent may never forget what has been done to her, and perhaps that is for the best. But if you try your hardest to lessen the hardships she faces, then perhaps you and your wife can earn her forgiveness, at least in some small measure.”

“Perhaps,” Gerard said, placing his fidgeting hands in his pockets when one of them came across a syringe. He took it out- the metal casing and crystal side windows told his it was a nanomachine canister. He must have picked up one of Angela's coats by mistake- 

“Perhaps...” he said again, as a thought suddenly sparked in his mind. It was a mad idea, but hell, what was one more? “Thank you, Zenyatta,” he said, giving the omnic a grateful smile. “You-” he began, when another idea entered his mind. “You really helped.”

“It was a pleasure,” he replied. If Zenyatta heard the note of hope in Gerard's voice, then he gave no note of it.

Gerard nodded, and walked briskly away, almost bumping into Lieutenant Amari at the garden's exit. “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” he said, smiling as he passed the Egyptian woman, barely hearing the conversation that Ana and Zenyatta shared as he left.

“Did you two discuss anything?” Ana said, her voice carrying over faintly to Gerard.

“Redemption,” Zenyatta had answered.

But by then, Gerard was too far to hear them. He walked through the halls of Oversight HQ to his wife's office. He had to see her, tell her she was right about- about everything.

Instead, he found her about to enter his office. They looked at each other for a few stunned moments, then spoke simultaneously.

“Angela-”

“Gerard-”

They stopped themselves, also at the same time. They held each others' gazes for a few seconds, then Gerard nodded as Angela sighed. “It's about Amélie,” Gerard said quietly, and with a wan smile. “Isn't it?”

“Is it that obvious?” Angela said.

“She has become quite the issue, hasn't she?” Gerard said, opening his office door and inviting Angela in. “Our first big project,” he said, moving to his table, but leaning against it in the end. For some reason, he could not bring himself to sit. Angela too, didn't make any motion to seat herself. 

“So she was, yes,” his wife replied.

The moments turned to seconds, the seconds to a minute, before Gerard spoke again. “I was wrong before,” he said finally. “I was wrong,” he said, wringing his hands, “about my methods being the only way we can go forward.”

Angela looked up at him, and the hopefulness he saw in her eyes melted his heart. “You make it sound like you have a plan.”

“Perhaps I do,” Gerard said. “But it won't be easy, and I'll need your help,” he said, before considering a moment. “Zenyatta's too. And maybe Torbjorn's as well.”

* * * * *

Amélie zipped up her catsuit and picked up her rifle. It had been a week since she last spoke to Angela, and had her fears about not receiving a new psychologist confirmed. Ever since then she had contemplated escape- or rather, seriously contemplated it for the first time. Even now, walking along the Oversight tunnels towards the training chamber, she took note of the various passages and hallways she would have needed to take.

True, her movements were officially restricted, but she felt that she certainly had the capability to figure out where she was going on the fly, and the passing Oversight staff revealed more than they would have thought simply by their postures and attitudes. That woman gently rubbing her stomach and walking forward determinedly- perhaps she was hungry and heading towards a staff cafeteria Amélie wasn't allowed to go to. The workman grimacing as he marched in another direction- the poor man might have been sent to clean the toilets. They weren't perfect predictions of course, but with every passing person, Amélie had more information.

But even if she did escape, where would she go? As agile as she was, she did have her limits, and navigating the distance between Zurich and the French border unseen would have been challenging to say the least. While her colouration would have made her harder to spot at night, it didn't hide her smell. Using the roads would simply increase her chance of being seen- after all, it wasn't as if she was inconspicuous by default. Most of all, how would she survive? She needed regular injections of nutrients and nanomachines to live, and as much as she thought of it sometimes, Amélie didn't want to die. At least, not as a slave.

On the upside, the psychiatric visits seemed to have lessened in frequency- or maybe Gerard had something to do that consumed the past three days, three days in which he was supposed to meet with her. Amélie wondered about this, and asked Angela about it when the doctor came over, but the other woman would act evasive, or simply not reply whenever Amélie broached the subject. At the very least, Amélie didn't see any hint of malice behind the woman's actions, or even actual secrecy- if anything, the female Dr. Lacroix seemed to be bursting to tell Amélie something, and one didn't need Amélie's emphatic abilities to see that.

Something whooshed past Amélie, and she came out of her reverie to see Lena run past her, jump into the air, spin 360 degrees to wave at Amélie, then land and run further without a break in her speed. Amélie sighed again- and there was the final reason she could not bring herself to leave. It wasn't just Lena, of course, but the rest of Talon. She'd been with them on only one mission, but already felt... at home among them, even moreso than she felt among her troupe of street performers before- before she became Widowmaker. 

She didn't think the feelings would last, of course- she was going to break free of Oversight one day, somehow, of that she was sure. And she had very little doubt that her feelings of camaraderie with the other operatives would fade as well, if not by simple absence, then by the absence of whatever concoctions Oversight was filling her with. 

Even so, if she could bring them with her, she would have.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she approached the training room; Lena was standing next to the training room's entrance- and Zenyatta was next to her. “Amélie!” Lena yelled happily. “Guess who'll be training with us!”

“I have no idea,” Amélie said dryly as she came up to them both, before turning her gaze onto Zenyatta. “I see they have approved your application,” she said to him.

“It was... difficult for some of them to accept,” Zenyatta said. “But I have been given the chance to prove myself,” he said qith quiet confidence. “What more could I ask for?” he said, spreading his arms.

Amélie had a few ideas, but she held back. She wasn't too experienced with reading omnics, but Zenyatta certainly seemed happy enough- why spoil that? “All right, let's go in then,” she said. “No need to keep our masters waiting.”

Entering the chamber, the three prospects waited as the hard-light generators shaped a battlefield for them to practice in. “Oooh, looks high tech!” Lena said, seeing the various abstract sculptures, computer equipment and furniture forming before them all. “Looks like it's a preservation run this time,” she added, turning to Zenyatta. “That's where we have to cause as little property damage as possible.”

“A noble goal,” Zenyatta said, nodding approvingly. “May we hold to such principles regardless.”

A voice came from the observation chamber high above them. “All right, everyone,” Winston said. “Today, instead of a free-for-all, we'll be holding a 2-on-2 team combat. Other rules and restrictions apply, though.”

“Hang on!” Lena exclaimed. “Now I didn't do too well in school,” she said. Amélie wondered if Lena's exaggerated self-deprecation was due to her being one of the world's best pilots, or by virtue of simply being English. Perhaps it was some unholy combination of both. “But last I checked, we'd need four people for that.”

“Yah, you would!” came Torbjorn's voice over the speakers. “And you would have four people here, if your fourth wasn't late!”

“Be patient, Torbjorn,” Gerard's voice was next over the speakers, and Amélie stiffened up a little. “She'll be here.”

Lena looked like she was about to ask something else, when Amélie held up her hand. She looked behind her, where the clattering sound of someone running through the halls grew in volume. When the shadow blocked the doorway's light, Amélie's jaw dropped- because for all that was done to her, Amélie had to admit that Angela looked... good, in that white armour the doctor was wearing. Even though she was bent over, panting and out of breath and using some kind of staff to prop herself up... she still looked good.

Evidently, everyone was staring, because Angela stood up proudly, took a deep breath, and grinned at Amé _everyone_ \- she was looking at everyone, Amélie had to remind herself. “Looks good, doesn't it?” she asked proudly, before waving up at the observation chamber. “ _Vielen Danke!_ , Torbjorn!”

“You look beautiful, Angela,” Gerard said.

“Don't break anything!” Torbjorn cut in. 

“No promises!” she laughed, before looking directly at Amélie. “Now, I believe I've assigned myself to your team,” she said breezily, and walked ahead of them. Amélie was about to reply, when she saw the wings, actual _wings_ , unfold from Angela's back. “Shall we?” Angela asked then, giving Amélie both an excited grin as well as no indication that she took note of the incredulous look Amélie was giving her in return.

Lena certainly noticed something though, and she had one thing to say as she nudged Amélie in the ribs. “Amélie?” she whispered. 

“Hm?”

“Don't tell Emily I said this, but...”

“Hm?

“Angela right now?”

Hm?”

“She looks well fit.”

There was only one thing Amélie could say to that. 

“...hm.”


	4. A Little Trouble In Greater China

The skies of the Qing Empire's southern reaches lowed with the lights coming from Lijiang, the unofficial capital of Guangxi province, and the unofficial 'second capital' of Imperial China itself. It was the symbol of a reinvigorated China, telling the tale of the nation's ascendency in neon letters written in electric ink. Where Beijing was the home of the Imperial Family, their bureaucrats and officials, Lijiang was a beacon lit by the efforts of China's rising intelligentsia and corporate giants.

In short, it was a magnet for enemies both domestic and foreign- the former was unwilling to see China 'surrendered to foreign capitalists and ivory tower intellectuals', and the latter simply thought to silence the Chinese Dragon, or at least discredit it in the eyes of its allies. The Chinese knew this though, and it was an open secret that the innocuously-named Imperial Bureau of Investigation and Statistics saw some of its largest deployments in Lijiang. Of course, not everyone appreciated the open presence of the Qing Empire's intelligence service or its black-clad agents, least of all tourists and foreign investors, so every agent stationed at Lijiang performed their duties undercover.

Not that it was too difficult for Amélie to spot them as she walked the just-rained streets of Lijiang's lower city, brightly-lit Chinese letters reflected in the puddles forming at the feet of the crowd packing the street. She did admit to herself that she was probably spotting new guys, washouts or bait, though. Some of them stood too straight, watched the streets with too much attention than cobblers, salesmen and ushers should have. Others seemed to be dressed incongruously- dirty chequered shirts and faded jeans didn't go well with expensive leather shoes shined to professional perfection. On the whole though, Amélie supposed that the most likely agents were the ones who, having been briefed on Oversight's presence in Lijiang, were industriously ignoring their guests.

She wondered about who presented the stranger sight- the blue-skinned woman in the hooded trenchcoat (her skintight catsuit having been deemed by Imperial authorities to be 'too revealing') and long hardware bag on her back, or the blonde woman, also in a trenchcoat, but making soft whirring noises as she walked. While Angela had retracted and folded her suit's wings flat onto her back, she could not hide the sound of the various joint servos in her armour. Combined with a staff that seemed to combine elements of the mystic and the high-tech, it was no wonder she attracted attention.

Of course, there was one other factor- Amélie needed neither her training nor her... treatments to see that there was more than curiosity behind some of the stares they were getting. Some women were glaring with jealousy, while others, men and women alike, had gone a little past simple approval. Amélie couldn't ignore the constant ache of nostalgia she felt, as she remembered dancing along the banks of the Seine and basking in the approving stares of tourists and citizens. That being said, Amélie also couldn't ignore how uncomfortable Angela was being the centre of attention. 

“Damn it, Amélie, I should have never let you talk me into this,” the blonde woman said, when Amélie turned to look at her. Even in the glare of Lijiang's lights, Amélie could still make out the blush creeping across Angela's cheeks. “We're supposed to be acting as security for Winston's conference, not tourists!”

Amélie simply smiled and turned away. Everyone- Angela included- knew that the only reason Oversight agents were providing 'security' for Winston was because Gerard had insisted on something safe for his wife's first field deployment. Besides, Amélie knew that hers was a petty revenge, that Angela was sincerely trying to make amends for what she had done to Amélie; between that and Gerard putting his usual psychiatric 'treatments' on hold (at least for the week Angela and Amélie had spent training with Lena and Zenyatta), Amélie was in a good mood for the moment. When it came to good moods, Amélie felt entitled to a little self-indulgence.

But there was another reason, one that went beyond simple enjoyment.

Paris was never much of a crowded city- the rise of arcologies, migration and simple low birth rates had seen to that. Yet Amélie loved the crowds- not just being watched by them, but by simply being among them. She would write stories in her mind, building entire worlds from what she observed. The business-suited man walking along with a jaunty gait had obviously been promoted. The woman may have been tired from pushing two prams at the same time, but in her soft smile Amélie found a single mother taking the small victories where she could. The trendy-looking man and woman having an argument while holding expensive coffees- seems like money couldn't buy marital bliss.

All speculation, of course- the jaunty businessman might have resigned from a job he hated, the tired woman might have just been looking forward to some rest, the trendy couple could've just hit a slight bump in their relationship. But it didn't really matter to Amélie. Every story she wove in her mind inspired her dance. She would leap with the businessman's cheery happiness, proceed to collapse gently with the woman's quiet triumph, and then suddenly leap back up and gracefully cut the air with her arms and legs in a dance that was less performance art and more martial art, energized by the furious energy of the couple- all while an audience watched and inspired her further.

And now, she found herself drifting away again, the sights, the sounds, the scents of Lijiang wafting through her senses. She was among the crowds now, flitting between watching Imperial agents, roadside food stall owners, and the other people massing in the Lijiang street. She turned around, and experienced a thrill of fright when she saw herself walking towards her, a blank smile on her face. Next to her, Amélie saw Angela turn and look at her for a second, the blonde woman's face going from curiosity to concern in a near-instant. 

But even as Angela turned Amélie's otherwise unresponsive body to her, Amélie suddenly saw him. As if emerging from a dark shadow, an otherwise nondescript man appeared in an alley behind Angela, which the two women had just passed. More than that, however, she saw his hand rising- with a gun held tightly in it.

In the next instant, Amélie was in her body again. Time seemed to flow erratically for her, shifting between blink-of-an-eye moments passing by too fast for her to process, and then just as suddenly slowing to an agonizing crawl. 

In a single instant, she grabbed Angela with one arm and leaped back as she threw the golf bag ahead of her with the other, the violence of the action causing the clasps on the hardware bag to open. 

Now she was trying to move through water, her free arm reaching for her Huntsman rifle. 

Another flash of movement, and her rifle was in her arm, while the gunman tried to push aside the hardware bag in his face. 

With infuriating slowness, Amélie brought her rifle up as she fell backwards, Angela in her hands. 

She barely had time to pull the trigger as the gunman, having pushed the bag aside, brought his gun back to bear on the two women.

There was a flash of light, a screamed curse, and the crack of metal on metal as the gunman's weapon was shattered by Amélie's own shot; even at the distance she was at, Amélie thought she noticed the hammer of the would-be assassin's pistol narrowly miss the bullet that the gun had chambered. 

Time flowed again. As Amélie hit the ground with Angela on top of her, she heard shocked gasps quickly turn into screams of terror, the crowds erupting in chaos, and Amélie feared that she might have saved herself and Angela from being shot only to have them trampled to death. Suddenly, she found her and Angela being lifted to their feet- two Imperial agents were helping them up, while another pair were chasing their attacker down the alley. “Are you all right?” one of the agents helping them up asked. Amélie was about to reply, when the sound of gunfire and explosions above them drew everyone's attention.

* * * * *

Walking the gardens located around the middle of Lijiang Tower, Lena felt a little guilty that she was a little bored. It wasn't for lack of effort, but try as she might to get into Zenyatta's mindset regarding such places, all she saw was a bunch of plants. Pretty plants, to be sure, not gonna argue there, but in the end it was all rabbit food to her.

That thought only made her more guilty as she stuffed her mouth with yet another sweet-and-sour pork dumpling. True, Zenyatta was an omnic and as such didn't eat biological food like humans did, but Lena definitely _knew_ that if Zenyatta was a human, he'd have been a vegetarian, no question about it. She wondered if Zenyatta managed to notice how bored she was getting walking around the garden, and whether his suggestion to split up was caused by that. He certainly didn't seem to have left the garden, and that only made Lena feel even worse.

True, the fact that he'd been accosted by several reporters and other assorted media personalities as he and Lena were walking through a small pagoda did help put things into perspective- after all, they were supposed to be there to provide security for Winston. Being cornered for interviews would have put a bit of a dent in that plan, and both Lena and Zenyatta were content to let him do all the talking. After all, as far as the reporters knew Lena was just an Oversight operative, while Zenyatta was a Shambali monk who'd given up his vows of pacifism to save Workers' Row. 

Lena thought about it a moment, then sighed. Nope, didn't make her feel any better- after all, she was starting to get bored even before the first reporter had recognized Zenyatta. With some sorrow, she rolled up the top of the paper bag the stall owner had put the dumplings in and put that bag inside a pack at her waist. It'd have been a pity to waste eating dumplings as good as those while feeling bad, after all. Besides, she had a security job to get back to.

And she thought she could do a pretty good job of it too. The Slipstream Project that she had taken a pivotal part in was one of the few projects the normally ardent Communist Union of Britain was willing to collaborate with a foreign power to do. The news that such collaboration was to be with Lucheng Interstellar, a company with very strong ties to the Chinese Imperial Family, was one that raised eyebrows and quiet protests at home, Lena's voice among them.

Lena's hand reflexively went to the softly glowing harness on her chest. Among the comfortably rich businessmen and women who populated the garden levels, Lena's chrono-harness elicited some looks, but of minor curiosity and mild interest. After all, it wasn't really any more outlandish than some of the latest court fashions, maybe a little gauche in how 'openly ostentatious' it was even. Not that one could expect much of a Communist- poor girl was probably doing her best to fit in, can't be too harsh on her.

All these remarks and more assailed Lena's ears, their speakers completely unaware that Lena could speak the language. She didn't mind though- not like she could really expect any better from capitalists. Especially those who actually thought having a bunch of pillocks dressed in shiny jackdaw-bait kit give orders about things they barely understood was somehow a _good_ idea. 

In any case, however, the Project gave a younger Lena plenty of time to look around Lijiang. True, she hated it at first, thanks to the capitalist parasites yakking on around her about how they were going to exploit their workers next (much later on, Commander Reyes would tell her to leave such editorializing out of her reports), but she later realized that they weren't the only people in Lijiang, or even Lucheng. There were blue-collar workers trying to make a living, skilled workers who were simply happy that their skills were being utilized fully, even if it was to serve an Empire, as well as scientists dedicated to making the world a better place.

Lena felt a slight warmth rise to her cheeks as she remembered one of those scientists, one Mei-Ling Zhou, working in Environmental Controls. Lena felt her cheeks grow even redder and warmer as she remembered the few awkward advances she'd made, only for a very mortified Mei to gently let Lena down to their mutual embarrassment. Of course, Lena wasn't exactly looking for a long-term relationship then, and in any case was definitely in for the long haul (or so she hoped) with Emily now, but _**still**_.

Then the Slipstream Project fell apart.

Nobody really knew what had happened, only that someone attacked the labs, nobody quite knew who. The Chinese accused British dissidents, while the British pointed the finger at Chinese officials who constantly turned up their noses at the Europeans. Either way, nothing really came out of it except a lot of paperwork and colder relationships between the two nations.

And for a while, neither did Lena.

Taking her hand off her harness and her mind off the memories, Lena looked upwards to the top of Lijiang Tower, where Dr. Winston was discussing certain matters with representatives from Lucheng Interstellar, the Vishkar Corporation, Tai Yong Medical, Volskaya Industries, and several other megacorporations. Lena had never really known her parents, having lived in a government orphanage until she joined the Red Air Force, and the gorilla was the closest thing she had to a father. She certainly liked the idea that her father, whoever he was, might have done everything he could have to bring her back just as Winston did.

She shook her head to clear it of her musings and turned around, only to gasp in shock and horror as a knife entered her gut- no, a sword. A bloody sword- literally! She looked up at her assailant as the people around her screamed. Behind her, where Zenyatta was, she could hear the snap and crackle of gunfire, and more screams. In front of her, a handsome Chinese man stood, looking at her with a rakish smile. The coat he wore seemed a few sizes too large for him, yet also seemed to fit snugly. 

“ _Gomé, gomé, onee-chan,_ ” he said in a harsh, mocking tone as he slid his katana out of Lena's belly and positioned it behind him, above his back. Not Chinese, then- definitely Japanese. Lena didn't know much of the language, but picked up enough from the Japanese engineers working on Slipstream to recognize it. Her attacker was grinning widely, looking for all the world as if he wasn't surrounded by screaming people, or that he didn't have a suddenly weak Lena crumple down to her knees in front of him as she clasped her ruined stomach and coughed up blood. 

“If it helps,” he added in accented English, “this wasn't personal. But, you know, the check had so many zeroes, I couldn't resist!” he said, laughing. He turned around then, and said something that chilled Lena to the bone. “ _Sayonara_ , Lena _-sama._ ” he said, the last words coming out in a mocking snarl, as he took out a small holopad and tapped a few buttons.

“W-wait,” Lena gasped, and the man turned back to face her, still with that infuriatingly smug grin. “We're not done yet.”

Blue light enveloped Lena, and she savoured the look of incredulity that crossed his face. She wanted nothing more than to stick her gun in his mouth and pull the trigger, but he knew her name- she'd need to find out how and why. Still, that could come right after she kicked his arse from here to Beijing. When the light cleared an instant later, Lena was back in top shape- she even had a bit of dumpling back in her mouth. That she swallowed without hesitation, the motions allowing her to give her would-be murderer a mocking grin of her own.

“Let's try that again,” she said, when another voice interrupted her.

“Indeed,” Zenyatta said, floating up behind her. Several of his orbs were glowing with recently fired energy bolts. “Are you all right, Lena?”

“I am now,” she said, raising her pistols as her wannabe killer tossed his holopad aside and fell into a fighting stance. But before any of them could act, their attention was drawn by the explosions at the top of Lucheng Tower.

* * * * *

Despite the rarefied company he was keeping, and the stares he was receiving from some of the attendees, Winston had no illusions about what he was doing in Lijiang. Each meeting, each discussion with the various wealthy industrialists and engineers were just items on Oversight's shopping list. He knew that it was all necessary- he needed to be there because he was perhaps the only member of the science team who knew what equipment Oversight needed, after all.

He sighed inwardly- he knew that Oversight's demands for excellence often required its staff to go above and beyond their training or education, but this was starting to get ridiculous. At least he could count on the rest of his team to run interference with the media- the last time Winston had done something like this he'd been accosted by the media more times than he was comfortable with. His story was over and done with, as far as Winston was concerned, and he had neither the need nor desire to revisit painful memories.

Around him, the ballroom buzzed with activity. Large tables had been placed in the general corner areas of the large room, allowing for guests to comfortably walk to and around their tables while keeping the exits and entrances relatively clear. Crystal chandeliers hung above the guests, providing bright, yet still comfortable light for all. All in all, Winston personally felt it was a 'take it or leave it' situation- if there was one thing he still hadn't fully understood about human predilections, it was their tendency to go overboard sometimes when it came to the nicer things in life.

At least the young lady he was talking to had the sense to keep her mind on pertinent matters. “Well, I have to say I'm rather impressed,” Winston said, having read and reviewed her proposal on the holopad he'd been given. “I must admit I thought that the costs would be far higher than what you've presented to me,” he added. “I do not wish to impugn your skills as either an architech or a mathematician, but are you absolutely sure of these figures, Miss Vaswani?” he asked the well-dressed Indian woman in front of him, her blue dress complementing her cybernetic arm and AR visor quite well.

There was a cough from beside the woman. “Whoops, sorry about that,” Sanjay Korpal said, extinguishing his cigarette. Winston had to make an effort to hide his instinctive distaste for the man. Almost a third of the time Winston had asked Satya a question, the man had answered on her behalf. Sometimes Satya let him, and sometimes she added onto what Sanjay said, but she never once admonished or corrected him. However, Winston noticed Satya tightening her lips and taking short, shallow, sharper breaths every time he did so, all while her biological arm clenched a little, so perhaps she wasn't as submissive as Sanjay thought.

Even so, as commendable as it was that Satya had such saintlike patience, Winston's own restraint was being tested to breaking point. He smiled at Sanjay, making sure to give him the full force of his massive fangs. “Thank you, Mr. Korpal,” he said, still baring his teeth. “But while I'm sure you know both your numbers and your business, I can't go back to my superiors without directly hearing from the architech responsible for the work. I'm sure you understand.”

Sanjay paled a little, then hurriedly took a sip of his drink. “O-of course, Dr. Winston,” he said, before turning to Satya. “Well, Satya, go ahead and tell him,” he said, motioning to Winston. It was a blatantly obvious attempt to reassert control, and Winston idly wondered what would have happened if he simply let his animal instincts take over, teach that oaf how gorillas assert dominance.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head- he'd spent so much time trying to simply better himself, there was no need to turn into a brute, especially since humans were capable enough of being even more brutal to each other. To whit, Satya' simple breezy ignorance of Sanjay's command, continuing to speak as if she had not been interrupted. “I am certain of my calculations, Dr. Winston,” she said. “Barring other circumstances, you might see a small increase in maintenance costs, but that can be offset.”

Winston raised an eyebrow, and looked back at the holopad. “Offset? How?” he asked, looking at the figures again. Try as he might, he couldn't really see how she could reduce costs, not unless Vishkar cut costs dangerously, and Winston had been adamant early on that he would not allow that. “I'm sorry, Miss Vaswani, but I'm a scientist, and I think I missed something in your calculations. I'm afraid you'll have to walk me through it,” he said.

“It's nothing so complex,” Satya said. “Most of the ongoing overhead will be in training and miscellaneous expenses, which often means any problems caused by people who are unused to maintaining hard-light constructs of the size you want,” she said smoothly.

“That's correct, yes,” Winston said, sighing inwardly. He knew how much time and money it had cost to set up and maintain the equipment they had now, especially since Oversight put the technology to much greater testing and abuse than most did. To do so again, on the scale Oversight Command- _let's be honest, here, Jack_ , Winston thought- wanted, would be... costly, to say the least.

“However, there are quite a few shortcuts and bypasses that can be made when using this technology. Normally, this would involve dangerous shortcuts, which you have refused. But they can be done...” she trailed off, and took a deep breath, which overrode Winston's protests with curiosity as to what she was going to say next.

“They can be done,” she repeated, “if the overseer of the project was deeply familiar with the system and how to operate it.”

It took a few more moments, then it finally dawned on Winston. “You want to join Oversight?”

“You can't do that!” Sanjay said, almost jumping out of his seat. “You're our best architech! Is this about Rio?! I won't allow it!”

“You have no choice,” Satya said quietly but firmly. “I sent my notice to Miss Jaya, and she approved it before her transfer,” she added, looking at him with a steely gaze. Winston had no idea who Satya was talking about, but judging by the way Sanjay flinched and paled further, he wasn't on good terms with this Miss Jaya person.

“I will cancel the deal-” Sanjay began, but Satya cut him off.

“No you won't,” she said, her eyes a burning glare, her voice cold but calm. “A deal with Oversight, especially of this size, will be a major coup for whomever manages to negotiate it. I know you will take the credit for it, especially once I'm out of the picture.” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course, regardless of what comes next, you will have to... handle it yourself. But I'm sure you have your own ways to deal with that.”

She turned back to Winston. “So as you can see, if I'm not hired I have about a week before I'm officially jobless,” she said, and Winston saw her tough facade crack a little. As for his part, with his world crumbling around him, Sanjay didn't seem to notice. “I assure you,” Satya added, “I will prove an asset to Oversight.”

“Well,” Winston began. “This is... quite unorthodox,” he said, before giving Satya a genuine, non-toothy smile. “But I suppose unorthodox is the norm at Oversight,” he laughed, a gorilla in powered armour. “All right, I'll certainly do my best to have you onboard. I know Lieutenant Morrison would love to have the books balanced out, at least.” He considered for a moment. “I don't suppose you have other skills, Miss Vaswani? A varied skillset would do wonders to speed up your-”

Suddenly, everything turned white as an explosion rocked the floor.

* * * * *

Angela opened her eyes to the sounds of chaos. Her ears rang with the dying echoes of gunshots mixed with the screams of people running, and above her distant explosions added to the din. Her own gasps only emphasized just how chaotic the situation was, and the scrape of leather against asphalt added to her confusion.

In such a situation, having a familiar voice to anchor onto was more than relief- it was salvation. “Angela,” Amélie said, her voice calm but firm, as two men helped them up. “Angela, are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” Angela said, her mind clearing. All around her, people were screaming and running, while gunfire was heard both coming from another end of the market and above her. “What the hell is happening?” 

“We're under attack!” one of the Imperial agents, who was dressed as a sloppy stall owner, replied in Amélie's place, when another gunshot rang out and he fell, crying in pain.

“Liew!” his partner shouted, but before the well-dressed man could say anything else, Amélie had dragged him behind a fallen stall, with Angela doing the same for the fallen Liew. She glanced at Amélie, and by some unspoken agreement they nodded, and cast off their large coats. Angela felt a moment of relief at the lack of oppressive warmth she felt after she shed the thick coat, then got to business. She took the Caduceus staff from its magnetic attachment at her back and extended it, the nano-assemblers in its haft extending it further than it seemed capable.

Behind her, Amélie had shifted her rifle into its sniper configuration, and lethally precise rifle shots were downing their as-yet unknown assailants with every shit- but not enough, it seemed. “ _Allez, montre-toi..._ ” she said under her breath, then cursed. “Angela,” Amélie said. Angela was surprised at how calm she was being, but she could still hear a note of strained tension in the French woman's voice. “They are behind too much cover. I'll flank them- you take care of the civilians.”

Angela wanted to protest, that as an Oversight asset she was worth more than the mundane civilians and Imperial agents in the night market- then Liew let out a groan of agony- and a memory came flooding back, a memory of something her father once said. Something about heroes...

“Not if I can help it,” Angela whispered to herself.

“Pardon, Angela?” Amélie asked, ducking back behind the fallen stall to reload.

“I said, 'be careful',” Angela replied. “And good luck.”

Amélie nodded, and gave Angela a small grin before she fired her grappling hook at a nearby building balcony and zipped upwards. Angela turned back to the Imperial agents who helped them up, where Liew's partner was trying to stabilize his partner. “Here, let me help,” she said. The unharmed agent looked at her unsurely, obviously wondering what to make of the Swiss woman pointing a strange-looking staff at Liew. But he relented quickly, and Angela activated the Caduceus staff's systems.

Auto-diagnostics examined the man's body, cross-referencing his state with a standardized medical database contained within a high-capacity solid state drive in the staff's haft. Nanofactories in the staff produced simple nanomachines from hyper-dense pellets of materials while giving them programming intentionally designed to overload them after a short period of activity, lest they work endlessly and cause artificial tumours. Finally, a specially-magnetized stream of energy delivered the nanomachines into an injured person's body. All this, including the reassembly process took place in an instant, the culmination of thousands of years of research into the biological and mechanical realms of knowledge.

But to all those who witnessed it happening, all they saw... was a miracle.

In a second, Liew's wound had closed, and he found he could even move his arm again. Angela would never know it, but the way she knelt ensured that she would be haloed by the glare of a street light behind her. “You...” Liew's partner said, taking a moment to find the words. “Thank you,” he finally said.

Angela didn't know what to say in return, and was strangely relieved by the sounds of gunshots behind her. “You can thank me by covering me,” she said, peeking out from behind the fallen stall to where many people, civilian and Imperial, were lying on the ground, moaning and groaning- or barely moving. “Those people need our help!”

Liew and the other agent gave determined nods. They took up positions next to Angela, and at a nod from them she leapt out, her Caduceus staff blazing with energy. The sound of their guns firing mixed in with those of their assailants and the thunderous crack of Amélie's own rifle. Angela forced the sounds out of her ears, concentrating solely on getting as many people up as soon as possible. She knew that, in her bright white Valkyrie suit and standing up as she was, she made a prime target for anyone wanting to take a shot. Even so, she couldn't back down, not while there were people to save.

“Nobody else...” she muttered under her breath. “Nobody else...”

Later, she would recall being hit quite a few times. Despite her Valkyrie suit's own nanomachine supply quickly healing her, she remembered feeling the agony- but it was as if it came from far away, or that it was happening to someone else. Either way, it didn't matter- she had lives to save, and that was that. 

Suddenly, it was all over. She looked over to Amélie, who had somehow managed to appear next to Angela, out of the haze in the Swiss woman's sight. To Angela's surprise, the haze was more than mental- she was blinking away tears. “Angela?” Amélie was asking, the French woman's face a sculpture of concern. “Angela, are you all right? You...” she trailed off. “I was calling your name, but you didn't respond.”

“That's ridiculous,” Angela responded- or wanted to respond. “What are you talking about?” was something else she wanted to say in return. “Sorry, this is all a little overwhelming,” was another reply that died before it ever reached her lips.

Instead, what Angela said was, “I couldn't save all of them,” she said quietly, and in that instant she knew it was true in all its heartbreaking clarity. So many dead.. so many men, so many women... so many small bodies...

And yet- Angela blinked away the haze, in both her eyes and her mind, and she heard something behind her. She turned around, and the sound grew louder as she saw a large crowd cheering, some with tears in their eyes. “Why... why are they...?” she asked, 

“You saved their lives, Angela,” Amélie said, giving Angela a soft, small smile.

“I didn't save everybody,” Angela said, her voice equally quiet.

“Maybe not, but you saved _them_ ,” came the reply, and Angela felt Amélie's hand on her shoulder. “They would be dead if it weren't for you- and that's enough.”

There was a crackle of gunfire above them, and the crowd's cheers fell silent as the all-too familiar sound of combat echoed down into the night market. “No,” Angela said, her voice cutting the air with its steely edge. “No, it's not enough. Not yet,” she said, her hands gripping her staff tightly- another thing she would never realize was that she was gripping the staff until her knuckles turned white.

Amélie looked at Angela with wide open eyes, then smiled and saluted. “ _Bien reçu, mon commandant_ ,” she said, then pointed her grappling hook arm at the roofs above her. “Shall we?” she asked.

As if in response to Angela's mental state- in fact, considering her neural link with the suit, it was entirely plausible that it was in response to Angela's roiling emotions- the Valkyrie suit's wings spread and flared gloriously. “Let's go,” she said simply.

One of the Imperial agents Angela had rescued raised a hand. “You two go on ahead! Me and my boys'll be up with you as soon as we can!” he said, to cheers from the other agents.

And with that ringing endorsement, Angela and Amélie ascended towards the garden levels.

* * * * *

Zenyatta tried his best to keep the screams of the people in the night market below from his aural receptors. The screams of the people on the garden level were more than enough to occupy his attention. He similarly tried to ignore the gunfire from below, but that was easier as the gunfire aimed at him and Lena was more than loud enough to compensate. Even so, he would later hold in shame the fact that his patience and composure was most sorely tested, not by the suffering of innocents, but by the loudmouthed braggart fighting him. Much later after _that_ , once he got to know said braggart better, he would feel his earlier guilt very much absolved.

“Oi! Oi!” he said, leaping up onto a roof. Under normal circumstances, such an action would have been suicide, and the hailstorm of fire coming from Lena and Zenyatta would have shredded any normal target. However, the man moved with preternatural speed, his strange, green-edged blade easily deflecting the Oversight agents' shots. “Hey! Stop shooting! I wanna be cool here! Hey!”

When Zenyatta and Lena proved strangely uncooperative, he sighed- and then broke into another wide grin. “Oh wait, wait, nevermind- this could be even cooler! Hoooh-waaah, yeah! This'll be so _awesome!_ ”

He then leapt an improbable distance into the air, shedding his long coat as he did so. Lena gasped, and Zenyatta was similarly shocked to see that underneath his coat, the man was covered in black armoured plating. No, not covered in it- it was a part of him. He somersaulted in-mid-air, his flashing blade deflecting the shots aimed at him all the while, before landing in the middle of the abandoned food stalls. As Lena reloaded and ran for cover, while Zenyatta recentred himself, an armoured helmet slid and clicked into place around their attacker's head, leaving only his eyes visible through a red visor as he struck a pose. “ _Hora-horaaaa!_ ” he laughed, spreading his arms at Lena and Zenyatta. “How was that? Cool, right? Like, it was so badass, huh? Yeah...” he said, nodding to himself thoughtfully as he looked aside. “So badass.”

While he was preening himself though, Lena and Zenyatta shared a short look together. Lena glanced in one direction, while Zenyatta's head moved imperceptibly in another. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough for their rudimentary plan. With one sudden movement, Lena zipped to their attacker's left and Zenyatta circled right. 

“What?!” their assailant cried. “No fair- for you!” Three shurikens slipped out of his wrist and into his hand, and even as he deflected Zenyatta's shots, he threw the metal stars at Lena with deadly force- or he would have, if she didn't blink out of the way or simply reverse her personal time every time she did get hit. “Oi! I said that wasn't fair!” he yelled. In that moment, Zenyatta's orbs let loose with a barrage of energy, and while their attacker managed to deflect the storm of energy Zenyatta sent at him, it left him open to Lena's own rapid-fire. While it didn't seem like any of her shots actually penetrated the armour, when the smoke of the impacts cleared it was more than obviously damaged.

“Wha-” their attacker said, before his voice descended into a snarl. “WHAT?! Do you know how much this cost?! Man, my brother's gonna kill me!” he said to Zenyatta, right before he leapt in the other direction, spun around and swung his sword at the charging Lena. Against just about anyone else it would have been an gruesome execution as he bisected them. Against Lena all he did was cut a food stall in half as she blinked or leapt through time- Zenyatta couldn't quite tell which- out of the way of his blade.

With a snarl of frustration, the cyborg leapt backwards again. Try as he might, Zenyatta couldn't quite manage to catch him in his own fire. As Zenyatta did his best to refocus his concentration, the man spoke up again. “ _Kuso_! I'm trying to be cool here, and you're ruining it! **Ruining it!** ” 

His eyes narrowed. “All right, fine! You want a boss fight? Well, I'm the biggest boss there is! Time for some adds!” he said, standing up and snapping his fingers.

As if on cue- and upon later reflection, Zenyatta would think it _was_ on cue- several large vans pulled into the car park next to the stall area and disgorged a horde of men. Some wielded katanas in two-handed grips, some had sub-machine guns, and the rest even dual-wielded shorter katanas and handguns. The cyborg snapped his fingers again. “Take them down!” he yelled, pointing at Lena and Zenyatta. 

Lena grinned and blinked away- all of one and a half feet. “Oh sod!” she cried.. “I'm out of juice!”

“Get behind me!” Zenyatta commanded. He overclocked his synthetic mind, bringing forth in an instant memories of his time among the Shambali and the peace he felt among them, of the Nepali people who welcomed Zenyatta and his kin like long lost family. 

“Zenyatta! No!” Lena cried as the cyborg's men lifted their weapons.

Images of the First Omnic Crisis, of walking among the dead and dying of both sides and trying to give comfort to them all, even those who had been trying to kill him mere minutes before. 

“Hoi! Shoot him already!” the cyborg commanded.

He saw Commander MN-DT-4, then a monstrous walking tank, powering down his battle cannon in regret and disgust, then motioning for the then-Lieutenant ZN-YT-4 to follow.

In the present day, guns roared, spitting fire and metal.

But Zenyatta was bare aware of that, if at all. Instead, he was back in the shattered factory with the rest of his mobile armour squad, hundreds if not thousands of highly-advanced synthetic bodies strewn about the floor and production lines. Many were unusable, the anti-omnic mobs had made sure of that, but there were more than enough for Mondatta and the omnics under his command to download themselves into. It took a while, but by the time they were done, each of the deserters had their own synthetic humanoid body. 

Zenyatta remembered looking down at his hands. He knew full well that hands like the ones he had then were responsible for the greatest atrocities in earth's history- but those were the hands held by those who would fight for peace. People who would suffer for it, who would ensure that there would always be those who would reach for such and impossible goal and make it real. Those hands were the tools of the hateful and savage, to be sure, but also to those who would transcend such limits and base desires in the cause of something greater.

And in the present day, as Zenyatta's hands clasped together the split second before the bullets hit, that was exactly what happened. 

Even as the hot slugs tore their way through Zenyatta's metal shell, his own nano-repair systems patched him up as quickly as they damaged him, far beyond any limit their human designers could have ever envisioned. Behind him, he barely heard Lena's triumphant laugh as she kept the sword-wielding thugs at bay with sustained fire. Some of the other thugs had even stopped firing, their faces masks of terror and awe as they gazed upon Zenyatta's glowing form, the golden light emanating from him enough to drown out the lights of the garden's markets.

“Hoi! Hoi! This is my show!” the cyborg yelled, and leapt towards Zenyatta, his sword flashing in the air as he went through an entire repertoire of moves. The slashing wall his blade created was more than enough to deflect Lena's own fire. It was her wail of despair as she tried to reload quickly that brought Zenyatta out of his trance just in time to see the cyborg descending on him, katana held high for a powerful overhead slash-

And then sent flying sideways by a high-powered rifle shot. Zenyatta turned aside to see where it came from, and his synthetic heart 'beat' faster when he saw Amélie standing on top of a pagoda-shaped structure. A moment later she was joined by Angela, her golden wings as bright as Zenyatta was mere moments ago.

The assassin, meanwhile, had rolled with with shot, tumbling across a carefully manicured lawn before executing another mid-air somersault to land on his feet. “Okay, okay, hoooh!” he said. “This is getting way too hot even for a badass like me- if you know what I mean, _ladies~_ ” he said, giving two finger guns to Amélie and Angela. One thing that Zenyatta would be embarrassed by- though not to the point of actual shame- was that this was the point where his exasperation reached breaking point and he fired on the assassin. “Okay, okay, Mr. Gentleman! Sheesh! I was just trying to be nice!” he said, and leapt over a nearby railing. “Sayonara!” he yelled, giving a small salute as he fell out of sight.

Zenyatta wanted to pursue him, but there was of course the matter of the thugs in front of him. But faced with four Oversight agents pointing weapons at them, even their strength in numbers seemed to bring them little comfort. The screeching of more tires in the car park as various commandeered vehicles full of Imperial agents pulled up behind them only served to finish off what little morale they had. By the time the Imperial agents emerged from the cars, guns at the ready and shouting orders, the fight had gone out of the thugs; they had their weapons on the ground and arms in the air before the agents had even got into position.

“Well, that was fun,” Lena said, coming up behind Zenyatta as she waved at Angela and Amélie. “It's not over though,” she added, looking up at the top of Lucheng Tower, where a fire seemed to rage on the top levels. Tiny slivers of light could be seen cutting through the night sky above them, and if Zenyatta could identify them as energy bolts, so could everyone else. 

“We need to get up there quickly,” he said. “Perhaps we can use the lifts?”

“Not with the tower being the way it is,” Lena said as Angela and Amélie landed next to her and Zenyatta. “If the lifts haven't been disabled, then they'd be deathtraps the moment those yobs decide to cut a wire or two.”

“They would be too slow in any case,” Amélie said. “I could try bring us up,” she added, looking at her hook launcher. “This cable must have some kind of tensile strength. Angela can fly the other one up.”

Angela hissed, sucking air between her teeth. “It would take far too long, but I cannot see what alternative we have.”

While the three women were talking about how they were to ascend, Zenyatta focused his optical sensors- something was glinting in the air. “Get back, all of you,” he said, pushing the other Oversight agents back. He needn't have feared; the object turned out to be a small sphere that slowed down as it neared the ground. It unfolded into a lotus-like shape, and when it unfolded completely, a large, bluish oval appeared in the air above it.

“What is that?” Angela asked, the only one of the four Oversight agents who wasn't familiar with the portal.

“That,” Zenyatta said, “is proof that we have more friends up there than we might have realized.”

* * * * *

Part of Satya Vaswani's mind told her that this was a very unorthodox way to begin a job interview. The rest of her told that bit that there was a time and place for everything, and for now, this was a time and place to dispense plenty of highly-charged photon bolts. It was still her architechtural work, in a way, except this time she was engaged in disassembling people instead of assembling hard-light structures. So not much like her work at all.

She didn't feel afraid, or if she did it was sealed away in the same part of her mind that wanted a more normal job interview. If anything, she was _offended_. She had this night planned out the the last details, and this interruption was something she could not abide. At the very least, she could try to be courteous. “Dr. Winston, are you done yet?”

“Just a few more seconds!” the gorilla called back from behind her, where he'd been busy adapting a prototype battery Volskaya Industries had brought over to show investors into a working weapon. The sales team had balked at first, but when they saw just how quickly their assailants had cut through their own corporate security, they changed their tune quickly. Satya didn't care about their damned secrets, only that Winston was taking a little too long for her taste.

One of her assailants fell, his chest a smoking ruin where one of Satya bolts had hit him. She was no stranger to killing, to dirty work, yet it pained her every time she had to take a life. After all, wasn't part of the reason she wanted to join Oversight was because at least she'd be able to justify it to herself? She was only technically still employed by Vishkar at the moment, so why did her damned conscience keep nagging at her? 

She pushed those thoughts out of her head and brought herself back to the present. The mysterious attackers, men clad in nondescript clothing and wielding light weapons and katanas (another fact that Satya found herself taking offence at- who uses swords in this day and age?) were advancing slowly, the few remaining corporate security guards unable to halt their advance. Satya gave the cowering Sanjay a look of slight disgust, before she thrust her cybernetic arm out and gave it a twist.

In an instant, her arm's hard-light projectors created a mobile shield projector. The small orb was exceedingly fragile, since it didn't technically exist save for a small lattice of nano-assembled circuitry 'inside' it. But the photon barrier it generated was more than real enough to halt the bullets coming from the attackers. 

“Very nice, Miss Vaswani!” Winston said, wearing the experimental battery on his arm like a gauntlet. “We must compare notes on our technology someday.”

There was another cough from Sanjay, albeit one more heartfelt and justified than his previous one. “Th-that is proprietary Vishkar technology! You can't just give it away!”

“I won't tell if you won't” Winston quipped, and nodded at Satya. “Whenever you're ready, Miss Vaswani.”

Satya was a little taken aback at being put in charge. But then again, she was the first to tip over the table she, Winston and Sanjay had been dinging at to serve as cover. She was the first to actually start firing back. And she was the one who stabilized their defensive line, so why wouldn't Winston look to her for leadership? He was a scientist, after all, what did he know of tactics? She wished she could tell him it was all out of instinct and reflex action- but then again, what difference would that make?

All she could do was rely on those instincts and reflexes for as long as she could, and hope that she didn't betray the trust Winston and the rest had placed in her. “Let's go,” she said, and leapt forward. From memory, she recalled that the room ahead of her was a lobby between the dining room and the server room, leading to the open top floor- odds are that was where the attackers came in from. How they managed to get through Chinese airspace was a question to be answered later. How they managed to hold off Chinese aircraft was a question that both didn't need an answer, and which needed an answer to now, as Satya and Winston leapt back from a rocket barrage from above that cratered the marble floors of the lobby. 

“What is your gun's range, Doctor?” Satya asked, as she peeked out from behind the doorway she and Winston were hiding behind. 

“Not much, I'm afraid,” Winston responded. “I can create short bursts of electrical energy, but not much more than that.”

In an instant, Satya had formulated a short plan. “There are multiple men there, and I cannot fire fast enough to take them out. My barrier will give you cover. Are you ready?” The words came out in a quick deluge, but Winston was thankfully able to parse them, and he nodded. In one swift motion, Satya leapt out of her hiding space, Winston following closely behind. She thrust her arm out, and the shield generator came online again, just in time to stop the next barrage of missiles. As Winston followed behind, she turned her attention to the server room, where she saw a flash of movement.

Belatedly, she realized none of the corporate security agents, not even those from Vishkar, had followed her and Winston. She thought of going back and calling them forward, but if they wouldn't be willing to attack before, they sure as hell wouldn't want to attack now when their enemies had rocket launchers. 

She looked at the other, third exit in the lobby, located directly across from the now-ruined receptionist's table. It led outside, to where a staircase led to a lift. Dignitaries would leave the lift as she had barely an hour ago, and be treated to the Lijiang skyline right before they entered the (literally) highest echelons of China's most powerful company. A hard, clear plastic sheath kept everyone on that staircase protected from the elements. Now though, that covered staircase was host to one of Satya's maddest plans yet. 

While Winston fired off his crude Tesla weapon above her, she ran to the side of the staircase, blasting away its plastic protection with her pistol. Below, she could see the garden levels of Lucheng Tower, and even from her height she could see distant bolts of blue energy down below, bolts she had become familiar with after seeing reports of the Workers' Row Uprising. 

Thankfully, none of them mentioned the aid she gave Oversight, only her rescue by the multinational team. Her AR visor's analysis AI helped confirm her suspicions- the two people firing down below were the Oversight agent called Tracer, along with Zenyatta, the omnic who helped Satya escape. The visor didn't quite manage to identify their target, but as he was outnumbered two-to-one, Satya didn't think much of his chances. And considering the chance she was about to take, she needed as many odds in her favour as she could get. 

Her cybernetic arm charged, producing two spheres in a burst of light. The first, she dropped down the tower towards the garden, her mind instinctively calculating the trajectory she should throw it to ensure it hit its target. Its onboard AI should have also had more than enough time to determine when to deploy its safety measures, such as its anti-gravity repulsors. 

Next, she ran back to the dining room and tossed the other sphere in front of Sanjay, where it opened up into a lotus blossom-like structure. She took a moment to enjoy the look of bewildered fury on the man's face, then sprinted back to the lobby, where Winston had come back, his Tesla cannon sparking and smoking. “Miss Vaswani!” he said, and there was no mistaking the relief in his voice. “I thought you'd abandoned me.”

“I have not, I assure you,” she said, when the sound of running footsteps ahead of them drew their attention. Almost as one, Satya and Winston ran for the other doorway, flattening themselves against either side of the entrance as gunfire and even a rocket flew through, narrowly missing either of them. “You know, a practical solution would be to return to the dining room!” Winston shouted above the gunfire. “As ineffectual as corporate security is, they might be able to provide extra targets for our enemies!”

“And so would the innocent people in there!” Satya replied, aghast. She thought she had Dr. Winston pegged, but apparently she was wrong- how could he suggest something so merciless?

However, when she saw him smile and nod at her, she felt relief overtake her despite the situation. “Excellent evaluation,” he said. “And quite heartfelt- I think you will have a very bright future at Oversight,” Winston said, before peering down into the server room. “Assuming we survive this.”

Satya looked at him a moment, and gave him a soft smile. “I don't assume,” she lied. “I know.”

But she did her damnedest to convince herself that she _knew_ she had a new job to go to. It'd be something worth living for.

* * * * *

Amélie wondered when she got used to the teleporter, especially since it was only her second time using it. She certainly remembered more than a little bit of nausea back at Workers' Row. And yet when she exited the teleporter behind Zenyatta, her battle rifle held at the ready, she felt nothing but alertness and even a little anticipation. Behind her, Lena exited with an audible “Ha!”, actually leap-somersaulting forward, her machine pistols held at the ready. Angela-

 _Ah, now that I remember,_ Amélie thought as she saw the queasy-looking Angela exit the teleporter. She did think it was a little unfair that the Valkyrie suit was able to clear that up so quickly, though. Just a few blinks, a shake of the head, and Angela seemed combat-ready once again.

Not that Amélie could say the same for the guy whom they had emerged over. Zenyatta had glided over him, but Amélie had almost stepped on his... on him with her boot's retractable heel, Lena had also almost landed on him when she emerged, and Angela was now busy giving him a short burst of her Caduceus staff after she noticed where she jabbed it. Judging by the look of fury he was giving the open doorway ahead of him though, his anger wasn't wholly directed at Angela.

Amélie was about to ask where Winston and the Indian girl- Satya, her name was, Amélie recalled- were, when the sound of gunfire drew the agents' attention. “No more waiting around- let's go!” she said, and the other Oversight agents followed behind. “ _Mon dieu_ ,” she muttered, as they ran past the cratered ground of the ruined lobby. Any speculation she might have had about the area was soon pushed out of her mind by the reality of what she saw as they entered the server room.

In more peaceful times, it would have been quite the sight. Softly thrumming servers in open halls surrounding a control room, above which a golden, glowing holographic representation of China's new planned space station floated. Outside the control room was nominally open to the elements, but a forcefield generator would have created a shield to protect it from both the elements and assault.

Now though, it was a battlefield. Corpses lay strewn everywhere, but as far as Amélie's short glance could tell, neither Winston or Satya were among them. In the main room, the display screens were smashed, and the hologram generator had been shot through, the golden station hologram flickering on and off. The forcefield outside was disabled, its designers never having envisioned such a devastating attack from the inside. Within the server room, server towers had collapsed like dominoes, and the lights inside were off, the only light in the room being that of gunfire. Above them-

“Scatter!” Lena yelled. Acting on instinct, Amélie leapt forward, behind one of the display screens, Lena heading for the one opposite. Angela wasn't so fast, and Zenyatta wasn't as lucky, taking a missile to the chest as he flew in front of Angela. “Zen! No!” Lena cried.

Amélie fired at the rocketeer, who had taken a position at a platform jutting out from near the top of the control room, but her hasty snap shot narrowly missed the man, who leapt behind into the room behind the platform. She turned her attention to the shocked Lena. “ _Attendez_!” she said, the urgency causing her to lapse back into French as she saw Lena about to lean out and run to the wounded Zenyatta. “Angela can help him!” she said, hoping she was right. 

Amélie looked at Angela, about to ask the doctor if she was, when she saw the blank look in the doctor's eyes as she fired a healing beam into the stricken Zenyatta, the tears welling up in her haunted eyes as she looked fiercely at the omnic, as if trying to bring him back to life with willpower alone-

  
_I have to save him._

_I have no other choice._

_I will not lose anyone._

_I have to save him._

_I have no other choice._

_I will not lose anyone._

_I have to save him._

_I have no other choice._

_I will not lose anyone._

**_Wake up, damn you!_**  


_And I thought I had problems,_ Amélie thought, when the sound of footsteps and a yelled battlecry snapped her out of her trance. She quickly scanned the battlefield, and saw an assailant with a katana rushing through the doorway at the opposite end towards the doctor. “ _Je te vois, salaud,_ ” she whispered as she dropped the man with a burst of fire, inwardly cursing herself for her inattention. Whatever Angela was going through, it meant that Amélie was technically the senior Oversight combat agent present.

Suddenly, a man flew outward from the darkness of the server room, his body hitting a girder and twisting around it unnaturally- if he was alive when he came out of the darkness, he wasn't now. Several other men ran out screaming in terror, when they were silenced by a what seemed like a grey storm cloud in the darkness, lightning bolts cutting them down one by one. When the 'storm cloud' stepped into the light proper, Amélie saw that it was Winston, roaring and snarling in primal rage.

“Winston?”

At the sound of Lena's voice, the fury left Winston's features, and he returned to being the gentle gorilla Amélie had become acquainted with. “Lena! You're all right!” he said joyfully. “Oh, thank goodness!” he said joyfully, bounding towards the console Lena was hiding behind. “They said you were dead!”

Lena was about to reply, when the sound of gunfire came from the hallway in front of them where Angela's katana assassin came from. Satya came running from that direction, firing her pistol behind her. She threw her cybernetic arm outward, sending a mobile shield flowing along that wall. “Satya! Over here!” Winston called out. “We'll stop them here!” he added, when Amélie noticed the shadows in the room above them shift.

This time, Amélie cursed herself out loud, belatedly realizing that with the Oversight agents about to be clumped up as they were, they would be the perfect targets for a well-paced missile. Even if they weren't directly hit, the blast would have been enough to take a few of them out. She realized that the moment of inattention she spent glancing at Satya's entrance was going to get them all killed.

Once again, time slowed down. Her first instinct was to fire at the rocketeer and take him with her and the rest, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zenyatta rise slowly, Angela breaking into a smile as he did so. That was when she made her decision.

“Winston, get them out of the way!” she yelled, pointing at Angela and Zenyatta. From the hallway in front of them, more men came running forth behind Satya, only to be met by Lena's fire as Satya leapt to take cover next to her. Something had formed in her cybernetic arm, and she threw it on the ground in front of her.

Meanwhile, Winston and Amélie ran for Zenyatta and Angela. Winston picked up Zenyatta, while Amélie shouldered Angela aside, her teeth grit with frustration at how slow she seemed to be moving. But she managed to do it, and turned to fire at the rocketeer- only to see the rocket a scant few feet from her. 

Moments before it could hit Amélie, the small sphere at Satya's feet glowed blue, a glow that quickly expanded into a dome even through the slowed time of Amélie's heightened senses. In the split second before the missile hit Amélie, a blue film of light covered her skin in a delicate tracery of honeycombed blue light.

The next thing Amélie knew, she was flying through the air from the missile's impact, but to her momentary shock, she was unharmed. Once the shock wore off though, she immediately raised her rifle in mid-air. She allowed herself a split second of admiring the look of incredulity on the rocketeer's face, right before she sent a burst of fire at him that took him down.

Unfortunately, she seemed to be about to follow him into the afterlife, as the force of the blast sent her careening over the balcony outside. She pointed her grappling hook launcher at the balcony's railing, again with the same infuriating slowness, and fired. Once it clamped onto the railing, she allowed herself a short smile- which disappeared when the railing broke off.

Desperately, she tried firing her hook again at lower window, but it was too late. The force of the blast had sent her flying outward from the building, too far from anything her hook could grapple onto. _So this is it_ , Amélie thought. _This is how I die._

She honestly didn't know what to think about her death. Her life had changed so much in the past few months, she had done so many things she would have thought impossible... 

She would certainly miss her friends from Oversight though, and part of her hoped they would miss her too. Lena, Zenyatta- and yes, maybe even the Lacroixs. Especially Angela, for despite what she did to Amélie, despite the fact that Amélie never asked for any of what happened to her... the doctor had done her best to make up for it, and if nothing else made it possible for Amélie to have done great things. After all, Amélie had saved countless lives and brought a pair of lovers together as Widowmaker- she could certainly find it in herself to give Angela some small measure of forgiveness for that.

She did wish she could have told Angela tha-

Amélie's eyes gaped open as she saw the white shape coming towards her. Her wings glowing as brightly as the determination in her eyes, Angela flew towards Amélie, one arm outstretched. Amélie reached out herself, and for one agonizing moment, their fingers barely brushed against one another's, right before Angela managed to catch it firmly. Amélie was suddenly pulled forward, Angela's arms holding them close in a tight embrace. “Amélie!” Angela yelled. “Hold on!”

With no other choice, Amélie did so, wrapping both her arms around Angela's shoulders and holding on tight. Amélie then felt Angela slip one of her own arms beneath her hips, and the other behind her back, right before the doctor flipped in the air. The next moment, Amélie felt her stomach lurch as the Valkyrie suit's wings went into overdrive. She would later find out that some people in the streets below thought a bomb had been thrown out of Lijiang Tower, so brightly did Angela's wings flare.

But Amélie wasn't aware of that just yet. In her daze, she was barely aware of Angela asking her “Amélie? Amélie, are you all right?”

Amélie blinked a few times and tried to steady herself in Angela's arms. “I... I think I am,” she said. She knew she sounded surprised, and for good reason- she was _astounded_. She looked up at Angela, the doctor's sky blue eyes, brimming with concern, somehow illuminated by the glow of her wings reflecting off her protective circlet. “Thank you, Angela,” Amélie added. Now that she had a moment to think about it, she didn't feel ready to die. Not yet by far. “You saved my life.”

Angela breathed a sigh of relief, her breath warming Amélie as the doctor leaned forward, their foreheads gently touching. “Of course I did,” she said quietly, rising back up. “Heroes...” she said, trailing off, and Amélie could see tears welling up in Angela's eyes, and the doctor needed to take another breath before she could speak again. “Heroes never die,” she added. As she said that, her tears began to flow.

As if on reflex, Amélie raised a hand to Angela's cheek to wipe away the tears. “That's a beautiful statement,” Amélie said softly. 

“I can't take credit for it,” Angela said, returning the smile. “It was my father's favourite saying.”

“He sounds like a wise man.”

“Yes,” Angela whispered, turning away and looking down. “He was.” 

Amélie nodded gently in understanding. She turned away as well, but to look over the Lijiang skyline. Stretching forth below them, the night lights of Lijiang still glimmered, a mirror of the heavens upon the land. “ _C'est magnifique_ ,” she mused, unaware that she had spoken aloud, and so she started a little when Angela responded.

“Yes,” the doctor said, as their gazes met, and Amélie felt her breath catch in her chest. “I'd say so too.”

* * * * *

To all outward appearances, Hanamura is just a small suburb located in Japan's heartland, a satellite orbiting one of Japan's newer cities. It has a small but relatively unexciting tourist industry, offering nothing much that other, more famous parts of Japan don't already offer. It's also the home of many local businesses and the headquarters of small companies that are doomed to remain so, small fish in the ocean of Japan's economic activity.

In short, it is exactly as the Shimada Clan wants it. Too rich or too poor, and it would attract unwelcome attention from the authorities. On the few occasions when a Shimada Clan member would lower themselves to speak to law enforcement, they made sure to do it on their own terms. To do so otherwise would bring shame upon the Clan.

Which is why several days after the Lijiang Tower attack, Hanzo Shimada, newly-minted leader of the clan, hoped that news of his meeting with the foreigner could still be spun to his favour when it inevitably got out. “You asked for the impossible,” he said to the shrouded figure talking to him via telescreen, his calm tones hiding the seething fury he felt within. “We gave you all we could,” he told the shrouded figure staring at him from across the room, where the screen was mounted; it was a strange anachronism in what was otherwise a traditional Japanese room.

“And it wasn't enough,” the shrouded figure said, his(?) voice distorted; if anything, at least Hanzo appreciated the fact that the guy could and did speak Japanese to him. Even now, the client's signal was being traced, but like the last few times Hanzo had his minions make the attempt, he felt that it wouldn't work again. Of course, he had to be seen making the effort, how could he not, but he strongly suspected his mysterious new client had deeper, and higher-tech pockets than Hanzo had originally anticipated. 

“Not only did you not get the technologies I wanted,” the client went on, “you couldn't even get the damned body count right! Less than twenty civilians dead, and no injured! The only large losses were on your side, and how long will that take to lead back to you, Shimada? How long until they come back to me? Do you know what kind of risks I've taken to get your men the passes and authorizations they needed? I'm more at risk than you are!”

Hanzo made to respond, but the client cut him off. “Enough, Shimada, I don't want to hear any excuses. I have a mess to clean up, thanks to you, and if I ever so much as drop a coin into your hat when you're begging on the damned street, you better get on your knees and thank whatever kind of gods you worship that they decided to look at you twice that day,” he said, then blinked out as the feed cut off.

From the shadows of the room, another shape emerged. “Yo, bro!” the cyborg said. “Don't tell me you're gonna take that bending over, are you?” he said in disgust, looking at the blank screen. “Asshole never even mentioned the freakin' Avenging League that Oversight sent over! I mean, it was all like psheeeew and zap-zap-zap and pew-pew!” he said, making finger guns as he mimed the sound effects. “No way me and our boys could stand up against all that!”

He shrugged. “True, I was pretty damn badass back there,” he said, shrugging modestly, “but still, not even a bad dude like me was good enough to take on those guys.”

“True,” Hanzo replied. “I can only be thankful that despite the fact that the forces I sent there were killed or captured to a man, you managed to get home safely, Genji,” he added, scowling.

Genji Shimada spread his arms. “What can I say, big bro? I'm a sur-vi- _vaaah!_ ” he sang, before turning his attention back to the blank screen. “Once I'm through with that guy though, he won't be, trust me on that. Can't trust me on anything else, fine. But that? Chopping him up into itty-bitty-nitty-gritty pieces? Yeah, I can do that.” He grinned, his smile having more in common with hunting beasts than any human being. “Oooh, you bet I can do that. It'd be lotsa fun, guaranteed.”

“In due time, brother,” Hanzo said. “In due time,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing.


	5. Pain and Relief

Jesse McCree looked at the cards in his hand, and then across the table at Anthony 'Big Sky' Biggs, Oversight's VTOL pilot. All around them, the hangar was packed with engineers and mechanics, who were busy clearing up the place in anticipation of the organization's upcoming expansion efforts. It wasn't just the training rooms that were going to be expanded, and since they were going to be dug underground it didn't really matter to the hangar area's crew. However, Oversight was also increasing its weapons spending, which meant more military VTOLS and vehicle weapons, and space had to be found.

Not that such things mattered much to Jesse and the pilot, who were looking at each other and their cards across an upturned box next to Biggs's VTOL. A few chips lay on the table, along with two glasses and a half-empty bottle of bourbon. Biggs scratched his stubble, his eyes darting between Jesse and his own cards. Then he sighed determinedly, and pushed his entire stack of chips into the pile in the middle of the table. Jesse raised his eyebrow at the move, but then pushed a stack of his own chips into the pile, and tossed his cards on the table. A Jack, a ten, an eight, a seven and a deuce- all of clubs.

Biggs looked at the cards Jesse had thrown down, and sighed again, but this time in defeat. When he put his cards down, Jesse saw a worthless mishmash of suits and numbers, and he grinned. “Gotta admit there, Big Sky, you had me going for a minute there,” he laughed. “That's... what, my drink orders for the next three months all sorted out? I'm gonna have to pull a req form for a bigger fridge.”

“Go on, yuk it up all you want, cowboy,” the pilot said, his own gruff West Virginia drawl not all that different from Jesse's own. “I'm just lulling you into a false sense of security,” he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out from his bomber jacket. “Just you wait- as soon as the stakes become something important, I'll clean you out, Lieutenant, just you watch.”

“Oh, don't you worry, that day's comin',” Jesse replied, as he gathered the cards back up. “Especially since I'm gonna be blind drunk thanks to you,” he added, grinning. “Hold up,” he said, as he heard a beeping at the headset mounted just above his ear. He held a finger to it a moment. “Damn, and here I thought I'd have some time to enjoy the fruits of my hard-won victory,” he said, getting up.

“What's going on?” Biggs asked. 

“Jack's called me in for a one-on-one,” Jesse said. “Didn't say why.”

“Pissed off the principal, huh?” Biggs asked.

Jesse shrugged. “Damned if I know,” he said, stretching a little. “But hell, that's Jack for you- keeps his cards close to his chest, doesn't call until he's damn good and ready. Trust me, if you'd been playing poker with him 'stead of me, the only way you'd have any cash for the rest of your life is if we tipped you every time you flew us out.”

“Looks like I dodged a bullet there.”

“Can't have been mine, then,” Jesse said, grinning. “See you later, Biggs,” he said, waving Biggs off, and getting a wave in return as he walked away from the hangar. He didn't mention it to Biggs, but he recognized the suppressed fury in Jack's voice. Something had Old Man Morrison of Oversight Mountain pissed as all hell, and far from being scared, Jesse had to admit he was somewhat curious about what got Jack's dander up. 

After getting off the high-speed rail that led from the hangar to the main base, Jesse took a somewhat leisurely stroll through Oversight's halls. Nice and clean, just the way he liked it; he'd had enough of the opposite for a lifetime and then some. He sighed softly- now those were some bad times in his life, back when he'd worked with Project Deadlock. Sure, he'd technically done a lot more good for Uncle Sam than bad, but the things he did to keep America stable and prosperous- well, patriotism only goes so far.

As he approached Jack's office, Jesse pushed the thoughts out of his mind. That chapter of his life was over and damned well done with. If Uncle Sam wanted to keep his hands clean, he'd have to find someone else to do his dirty work, someone who wasn't Jesse McCree. Right now, he was just another Oversight officer, meeting his boss.

Pushing the door open, Jesse couldn't help but muse on how he'd never been able to get used to Jack's office. Unlike Jesse's own dusty office, which was full of various Native American art pieces, old gilded rifles on the walls, bookcases straining under the weight of various survival journals and similarly-themed novels, not to mention the overstocked drinks refrigerator, Jack's was... different. More spartan, in all senses of the word.

Like Oversight itself, it was clean and streamlined, all white and silver, gentle curves and meticulous straight lines. Unlike Oversight, it was exceedingly sterile, with none of the life Oversight's staff had infused in the organization. It wasn't that there was anything wrong Jesse could find with Jack's office- if anything, that was the problem. There were none of the service medals Gabriel displayed in his office, nothing like the sweet pictures the Doctors Lacroix had of each other in theirs, or the potted plants Dr. Winston liked having in his.

In short, it was the office of an- well, an Oversight officer. Nothing less, and nothing more.

“Hey Jack,” Jesse said, closing the door behind him. “You got something for me?”

“It's Lieutenant Commander to you, McCree,” Jack replied, and Jesse nodded easily, hiding his exasperation. He didn't really see much difference between Jack's official rank of First Lieutenant and his own Second Lieutenant, but... Jesse shrugged mentally- Oversight Officer.

“Sorry, Lieutenant Commander,” he said. “Sometimes I just plain forget my place in the grand scheme of things.”

“I don't have time for your damned sass, Lieutenant McCree!” Jack snarled, and Jesse raised an eyebrow. Jack wasn't just angry, he was genuinely furious. Jesse was impressed by the fact that Jack still somehow had enough control to keep himself from turning red with fury- he didn't even know people could do that. “The only reason I haven't had the guards drag your sorry carcass to the brig, why I haven't goddamned well _shot_ you is because up until now you've been a hell of an agent, even when you go off-script! An explanation, McCree, that's all I want for now- and make it good,” he snarled.

“Whoa, hey, Lieutenant Commander,” Jesse said, holding up his hands. “At least tell a man what he's being hanged for before you tie the noose.”

Jack looked him in the eye uncomfortably for what seemed like an eternity. “You... you don't know,” Jack said, his eyes widening. “You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you?” he repeated, then turned away. “Damn, damn, damn!”

“Still waiting here, sir.”

Jack didn't answer at first. Instead, he motioned for Jesse to come around his desk, then pointed to his computer's screen. Jesse read the report displayed on it, one that concerned the recent raid on Lijiang Tower three days ago. Most of it Jesse already knew from reading the reports the Lijiang team had sent in, but this one had a lot more new information in it, being a report from the Imperial Bureau of Investigation and Statistics. His eyes scrolled down the report's text, until- “Wait, is that right?” he asked incredulously. 

“Why would the Chinese lie, McCree?” Jack asked sourly, his rage having subsided but still simmering. “Thankfully our team's actions, especially Angela's, have convinced them that Oversight as a whole is innocent- but that doesn't resolve the central problem.”

“You said it, Jack,” Jesse said; maybe it was his shocked tones, but this time Jack didn't correct him. Not that Jesse would have heard him- the information being presented on the screen was simply too much for him to process.

But it was there for him to see in black and white. One of the questions surrounding the Lijiang attack was how so many yakuza- and at least they had that fact down pat- had managed to infiltrate one of the most carefully-policed cities in China while being so heavily armed. After all, Imperial China had some of the world's strictest weapons laws- so many weapons could not have entered the nation without anyone noticing.

As far as Jesse could see though, Chinese customs did notice both the goons and the guns- but they let them through anyway. And the reason was staring him right in the face. “How the hell did those guys get Oversight clearance codes?!” he said, aghast. As part of the UN committee in charge of Oversight, China had signed a treaty that gave Oversight its own authority in China. And now Jesse was seeing evidence that someone had abused that trust with his own eyes.

And then he read further, and he realized just why Jack had called him in. “These other codes- they've got Oversight IDs, but there's these Deadlock transmission protocols all over them,” he said grimly.

Jack nodded. “I didn't deal much with Deadlock back in my own army days,” Jack said, and Jesse found that easy to believe- he couldn't think of a worse fit for the by-the-books Jack than the free-for-all that Deadlock's operations often boiled down to by design. It was inevitable- Project Deadlock was formed after the Second Great War to keep the United States out of massive conflicts by ensuring threats to Uncle Sam were kept at each others' throats instead of that of the American eagle. Between that and the US government's largely hands-off approach to military matters, often meant that Deadlock agents were given plenty of leeway in how they performed their missions. “Thanks for the confirmation.”

Jesse liked having the freedom to act in those days, not like the more regimented ways of Oversight. But when he remembered just what that freedom led to his cell doing, it simply affirmed that he did the right thing in jumping ship. That being said, an attack like the one in Lijiang, as direct, open and destructive as it was, was not Deadlock's style, and he said so.

“Well, if it's not Deadlock, then who?” Jack asked in frustration.

“I don't know, sir,” Jesse said. “But whoever did it knows their Deadlock as much as they know their Oversight,” he said, sighing as he realized what that would mean. “Maybe I _have_ been compromised, somehow,” he said, though he'd be damned if he knew how.

Jack snorted. “Yeah, well, 'somehow' isn't going to cut it, Jesse,” he said. “My apologies, McCree, but I'm gonna have you detained-”

“Wait, what?” Jesse asked. “But I don't-”

“You said 'somehow', didn't you?” Jack said, plunging on mercilessly. “I'm going to have Angela examine you for- for anything that could have you compromised. Implant bugs, traces of truth serum to make you talk in your sleep- hell, I don't know, I'm just a soldier; I leave all that cloak-and-dagger crap to other people. I'm also going to have security go through your quarters with a fine-toothed comb, same with your computer.”

Jesse sighed again. He could certainly see the reasons for Jack's caution, and as far as Oversight was concerned he was taking reasonable measures to ensure Oversight's security. Still, it didn't hurt to ask “Could you ask Angela to be gentle with me?”

“No promises, Jesse. Best I can do is get her to look you over after she's had a rest from her training,” Jack said, as he pressed a button on his table. “Security? This is Lieutenant Commander Morrison. I need an escort for Lieutenant McCree.”

* * * * *

Gerard made sure he had everything he needed before he set off for his appointment in Lieutenant Commander Morrison's office. He'd read the after action reports from the Lijiang Tower attack, and from what he'd seen in them, he was confident in what he was about to propose to the Lieutenant Commander. Of course, he was sure most of his suggestions for going forward were, at best, 'going to be considered' and never spoken of again, but that was bureaucracy for you. But even so, he was sure that Jack's preference for efficiency and professionalism would win out over even the Lieutenant Commander's own previous ideas.

As he sat up to leave his office, he caught sight of the bundle of folders on his tables- the AARs he'd based his own report on, the topmost one bearing Angela's name. He ran his fingers lightly over the manila folder, before drawing them back- right now, he had a job to do and a report to deliver. Besides, it wasn't as if he couldn't tell was troubling her.

Exiting his office, he thought of stopping by Angela's own office a moment, just to see how she was doing, then he remembered the time- she would have been in training right now. The thought that his wife would be taking part in combat missions still made him slightly ill to think of, but any anxiety he felt was tempered by pride in the woman he loved. It was a hard thing for Gerard to admit, but he knew he didn't have the courage she had- not that he'd have been able to help much even if he did. Not like there was much use for a psychologist during a battle, and even if there was, it was certainly not as much as there was need for a battlefield surgeon.

And as 'combat psychologists' went, Zenyatta (if not Amélie herself) was more than enough, Gerard mused as he walked away from his office to Jack's. 

He marvelled inwardly a little at how much an ex-interpretive dancer had shaped his and Angela's life for the past few weeks moreso than Oversight's actual military staff. Even the ever-bubbly Lena Oxton was a Red Air Force pilot before she joined up, one of their best, and that was saying something. On the other hand, Amélie was a civilian, and from an occupation that was hardly military to say the least. It was perhaps some kind of miracle that she managed to hold up to Oversight's... alterations of her.

Gerard shook his head and sighed. No, not Oversight's alterations, _his_ alterations of her. Oh sure, Angela had altered Amélie's physical body, but those problems were- well, they wouldn't be easily surmounted, but they would certainly be easier to heal than the scars Gerard left on her mind. The fact that some of those scars were caused by Jack was no excuse. That most of it was, perhaps, more of a failure of execution than concept... nope, still not an excuse, even if Gerard believed in that to some extent.

He smiled sadly- that was the kind of thinking that led him down this path in the first place, and it was breaking with that kind of thinking that led Angela to bring him away. Gerard had to admit that he wasn't doing this wholly for Amélie, but also for Angela. His wife had grown a little- not distant per se, but certainly distracted since Lijiang. With what he'd read about her dramatic rescue of Amélie, as well as the latter's own spacing out in the night market, he could certainly see why. That heart of hers was why he fell in love for Angela in the first place, but he didn't have to be a psychologist to know it had stretched the rest of her to breaking point.

Which was why it was as important as possible for him to get this over and done with as soon as possible- not just for Amélie's sake, but Angela's as well.

All thoughts of his wife and his patient were temporarily put out of his mind, however, when he was about to turn left and enter the hallway leading to Jack's office. As he approached the corner, he narrowly avoided colliding with a squad of Oversight security guards. “Whoa! Sorry about that, Dr. Lacroix,” one of the men said apologetically, saluting the doctor. 

“Oh, don't worry about it, Hassan,” Gerard said, returning the salute. Technically, he and Angela did hold the rank of Specialist (under Oversight's military system, that made them Chief Warrant Officers 5), so it was both appropriate for him to be saluted, and customary for him to salute back. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh...” Hassan said, rubbing the back of his head. “You'll have to ask Lieutenant Commander Morrison. Sorry, I can't say much more.”

Gerard nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “Carry on, Sergeant.”

The sergeant nodded, and continued, his squad in tow. As Gerard turned the corner, he saw Lieutenant McCree in the distance, either as part of or leading another security detail. It seemed like something big was going on, and Lieutenant Commander Morrison was in charge of it. For a moment, Gerard wondered if this was the right time to meet up with Jack. Perhaps this was best postponed until he was less busy?

The moment that thought entered his mind, Gerard held back a derisive snort; if he did that, future archaeologists- no, future _palaeontologists_ \- would probably dig up his fossilized remains still clutching his undelivered report. He walked up to Jack's door, and was about to give it a knock when it opened up to reveal Jack himself. “Doctor Lacroix?” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I sent you an appointment request,” Gerard said. Even though he himself stood 6' tall to the 6'1” Jack, Gerard always felt like the other man towered over him whenever they met. “Regarding psychological schedules for Miss Dumont?” He swallowed. “Perhaps I should come back later, if it's-”

“No, no,” Jack said, waving off Gerard's protests while sighing. “I'm at fault here for forgetting the appointment. Sorry, Doc,” he said, turning around and motioning for Gerard to enter. “Just got a message from the Chinese first thing when I came into my office this morning, and it's been playing merry hell with my mind,” he said ruefully. “Go on, Doc,” he said as he sat down. “You said you had some new plan for Amélie, is that right?”

“Yes, I do,” Gerard said. Jack motioned for him to sit down on the chair in front of his desk, and Gerard gratefully took the offer. “I think it can be said that with the success of the Lucheng Tower defence, your- I mean, our worries regarding Amélie's military potential can be put to rest,” he said. “If anything, I think we went a little too far-”

“You, Doctor Lacroix, _you_ went a little too far,” Jack said, pointing at Gerard, which the doctor felt was a little unfair. “You never actually told me just how stuff you were injecting into the girl. I just wanted someone suggestible, someone we could mould into an asset. You said you had one, and I approved, remember?” he said, his voice lowering just a little as he finished the sentence. “But all right, let's say I go along with this- are you 100% sure she'd be more effective without the treatments? It's only been a week and change since you began reducing her dosages. That doesn't sound like enough time to come to a conclusion.”

“Perhaps not,” Gerard admitted, “but it _is_ enough time to form a hypothesis.”

“Which is?”

“If anything, I think that the lack of any really dramatic psychological setbacks at the Tower show just how resilient Amélie's mind is,” Gerard said. “She already had a knack for empathy before she joined us, and we have honed those instincts as well as we could have.. Any further treatments would only hurt both her and Oversight, in both the long and short-terms,” he added, a little proud of himself for that last addition- can't go wrong using Oversight in an argument with Jack. “I think we can have Zenyatta take over any counselling duties going forward. Someone who is willing and capable of sharing her combat experiences would be far more effective in helping her than I.”

Or maybe he could. “I don't know, doctor, I'm still not sure...” Jack said, leaning forward. “Look, Doctor Lacroix, I can't go into too much detail,” he said apologetically. “But, well- I'm currently dealing with people, or a person, I'm not sure yet, who might not be team players,” he said, and Gerard felt his blood run cold at the insinuation. “Again, I wish I could tell you more, but you know, OPSEC.”

Gerard nodded slowly. “I'm sure I wouldn't really want to know yet, regardless of operational security,” he said. “But I'm not sure where Amélie falls into that.”

"Aren't you? Come on, doctor, you're the psychologist. Surely you've figured it out,” Jack said, before his voice dropped in volume again. “You and Angela have played merry hell with that girl's mind and body,” he said in an almost-growl. “If it were me, I'd be coming for your heads, and those of whoever enabled you- namely, Oversight. Now, maybe I'm just a simple-minded soldier, but I don't think an assassin that can read me like I'm a damn pop-up book is someone I'd like shooting at me. Cutting her treatments might help you sleep better at night, but how long will it take before she puts us all to sleep permanently?”

“I- I don't know where to start with that!” Gerard said, aghast. “First of all, I think Amélie has had more than enough opportunity to escape and have her vengeance. You've read the reports- the escort team had split in two at Lijiang, and Amélie went with my wife! Who, let me remind you, was completely inexperienced outside of her training and armed with nothing but a standard pistol. If she wanted to escape, that would have been the perfect opportunity.”

“And do you think the Chinese would have let her escape?” Jack asked. “They are part of the Oversight Committee after all- all it would've taken is one message from us. It's not like a French woman with blue skin could blend in with Chinese society, after all.”

“I'm sure you know the capabilities of China's agents better than I do,” Gerard said. “But I know Angela's own alterations better than you, and between her emphatic skills, near-invisibility to heat sensors and agility, I think she'd have found escape easier than you think.”

“Still-”

“I am not _done_ yet, Jack!” Gerard said, rising out of his own seat. “Secondly, I think that for all your talk of 'team players' you don't seem able to see that spirit in others! I don't know if you've spent much time out of your office, but Amélie has made great strides in bonding with her fellow teammates, especially with Specialist Oxton and Specialist Mondatta. She may not be loyal to Oversight per se, but even if she isn't loyal to her friends yet, I have had enough evidence to believe that she is quickly becoming so.”

Jack didn't reply at first. Instead, he sighed before speaking, “That's what I'm worried about, Gerard. Despite our lofty goals, Oversight is still a military unit. We might be called to give our lives for a greater cause if and when the time comes, and it's loyalty to that greater cause, not to the people fighting for it, that I need- that Oversight needs.”

He got up then, and walked behind Gerard before placing his hands on the doctor's shoulders. It was at that moment Gerard became uncomfortably aware of how large Jack's hands were. “Gerard,” Jack began, his tones calm and conversational, “I know it must be hard for you to come to terms with the fact that you and your wife ruined a young woman's life just to make yourselves look good. Or will you tell me I'm lying?”

“I....” Gerard swallowed. “I suppose you're right.”

“I mean, you two are, what? In your early thirties? No, that's not right... damn, now that I think about it, isn't Angela turning thirty this year?” he went on, as conversational as ever. “Man, most people go their entire damn careers trying to make a super-soldier, and you can trust me on that!” he laughed. “But you two? You managed it before your mid-thirties! Can't blame you lovebirds for letting your ambitions run ahead of your ethics, right?”

“I... I have had those thoughts, yes,” Gerard said, nodding sadly. “And I'm sure Angela has had them as well. Where are you going with th-”

“What I'm saying, Doctor,” Jack replied, “is that you and your wife? You're smart people, and smart people tend to think they can fix the world. Because they're smart, see? Especially if they're young; they can see the paths to progress that their elders, too set in their ways, couldn't. But then they make things worse, because more often than not experience counts for more than knowledge, and then instead of using that intelligence to go onto greater things, they spend all their time and energy trying to fix the problems they've caused.” He snorted ruefully. “Story of human history, really.”

He sighed again, and went on before Gerard could speak. “But all right, tell you what, Doctor,” he said. “First off, I'll think up some way for Amélie to prove both her skills and her loyalty, and if she passes, I'll let you fix whatever problems she's got left however you like. If she doesn't pass, I'll be the one handling the troubleshooting, all right?” he asked in those same conversational tones. Gerard didn't like the sound of 'troubleshooting', but before he could answer, Jack went on. “And secondly-”

Gerard gasped in agony as Jack's genetically enhanced fingers dug into his shoulders. “I know it's hard to control yourself when emotions run high,” Jack said, still as calm as ever, and thusly terrifying Gerard into temporary silence, “but you're better than that- or at least I thought you were, or at least tried to be. Too many people around here only think about results, that's all. Nothing about the structure, the laws, the rules and the discipline that make those results possible. It's not just about the big things-”

“J-Jack, you're hurting me,” Gerard whimpered as he reached for hands that felt as immoveable as mountains.

“-but the smaller things as well,” Jack went on. “Like, say, remembering your superior officer's rank. Or the proper protocol to use when addressing and making requests of said superior officers. Now,” he said, leaning in. “You were saying something, Doctor Lacroix?”

“P-Please, Lieutenant Commander Morrison, sir,” Gerard said, forcing the words out through the agony. “Requesting permission to, argh...” he said, realizing with a thrill of terror that he had no idea what to say.

“Good enough,” Jack said, releasing his grip. Before Gerard could massage his aching shoulders though, Jack slammed his hands on them, sending more pain shooting up through the bruised muscles. “Now, before you go reporting this up the chain, let me remind you that we've got a problem with people who aren't on the team. And one of the things I've advised Gabriel and the other Lieutenant Commanders about? Is that those people are going to try sow discord among Oversight where they can. Now, if you sent a message to anyone, saying anything wrong about the guy in charge of the investigation... well, like I said, you're a psychologist, a smart guy. I'm sure you can figure it out.”

Trembling from both pain and fear, Gerard got up unsteadily, and turned to at Jack in fear. But Jack simply stared back, his face a mask- and Gerard was sure that was all it was, a _mask_ \- of serene placidity and calm. The Lieutenant Commander motioned to the door. “Exit's that way, Doctor Lacroix,” he said.

Nodding unsteadily, Gerard hurried out. He cast one last fearful gaze at Jack's office before hurrying off. Part of him wondered if he should tell his wife about this- but no, he wouldn't. The less she knew about Jack, the better. He smiled ruefully- as distracted as his wife seemed now, he was sure that something like this would have got her attention. And the way Gerard saw it, that was the last thing she needed.

That said, she was who he needed right now. _If only she wasn't training_ , Gerard mused. He could only hope she was having a better time of it than he was.

* * * * *

Amélie flipped herself onto the second floor of the simulated shattered building, its hard light surface flickering slightly as her feet hit its surface. Behind her, the now-empty 'street' lit up with rapid-fire energy bolts. “Found them,” she said with a smile, as her newly-forged combat helm slid into place. The sensory equipment within her helmet showed Lena, Angela and Satya holed up in the building across from her, a small, squat one-story structure with a door and rudimentary windows. “I'm transmitting the feed now.”

A boisterous laugh echoed in both the training chamber as well as Amélie's headset. “I see them now, _Frau Spinne_! Shall we?”

“Are you sure?” Zenyatta asked. “They have a fortified position, after all.”

“And so do we!” Reinhardt laughed. The clank of metal on metal rang out through the chamber.

“Indeed we do,” Amélie replied, grinning. “ _Toujours l'audace!_ ” 

Under most other circumstances, Amélie would never have been so brash, but there were extenuating circumstances. Namely that Lena was about to spend a few days back in England, ostensibly to settle a few personal affairs back home (and Amélie had a very good idea of what affairs she'd be personally taking care of). 

More importantly, Lena had bet one of Amélie's suits to one of her own flight suits that she'd win (which was why Amélie was so sure of her plans). Amélie, being a fastidious young lady, took very good care of her clothes, while it was obvious to all and sundry that Lena... wasn't quite as diligent. Amélie also had plenty of suspicions about what Lena would use a catsuit for- or rather, _who_. As attractive as Emily was, Amélie was quite sure she didn't want to know just how good Lena found her scent, and vice versa. 

A roar echoed through the chamber as Reinhardt charged down the street, shield at full charge, its reflective surface gleaming with the plinking of Lena's bolts against it. Following closely behind him was Zenyatta, responding with his own rapid-fire bolts. Amélie didn't join them; instead, she cast her hook at the telephone pole next to the house; the hole in the structure's roof was perfect for her plan. 

As the rope pulled her on top of the pole, she threw a Venom mine inside the house. The gas it sent billowing forth wasn't Venom gas, of course, just a fast drying, electro-sensitive residue. It just had to linger on the house's three occupants long enough to cause the sensors attached to them to register them as 'taken down'. As she waited for the gas to do its work, Amélie idly wondered if her request for a less-lethal gas, or at least a lethal trigger of some sort had been approved.

“Good one, Amélie!” Reinhardt said as the firing from within died down. “Too bad I didn't get to give anyone a few good whacks with this,” he said, hoisting his hammer, its head replaced by a hard-light construct, “but a victory shared with friends is always a sweet one!”

“Indeed, it seems my doubts were misplaced,” Zenyatta said, hovering beside Reinhardt. “And so easily won as well!” he said, deactivating his hover field to walk on the ground.

“You hear that, Lena, _mon cher_?” Amélie laughed, directing her voice at the hole in the roof. “It seems your vacation won't be as exciting as you hoped,” she said. “Lena? Oh Lena, don't be so sour, it doesn't suit-”

Three things suddenly occurred to Amélie in rapid succession- first, she hadn't actually heard any notification from either her own tac feed or from the observation platform about their opponents taken down.

The second was the realization that, with Zenyatta and Reinhardt standing in front of the house where their opponents had supposedly made their 'last stand', and with Amélie perched on top of a telephone pole next to it, her team was amazingly exposed.

And the third was a charged bolt nearly knocking her off her perch as it hit her in the back.

As Commander Reyes's uproarious laughter echoed through the test chamber, Amélie turned to fire back at her assailant, but was greeted with the sound of her rifle locking up and her helmet's tac feed showing her as 'eliminated'. All she could do was stare in indignant surprise at a very smug Satya, then watch impotently as a storm of simulated fire eliminated Zenyatta as well. Reinhardt managed to turn towards the attack with his shield at the ready just in time, but by then it was then him against three, with Satya sending a barrier of her own to blunt his charge, and Lena wearing his own shield down with rapid fire.

Amélie had to admit, even with those odds he fought valiantly, his hard-light hammer 'hitting' his targets more often than not. It wasn't helped that, despite their very successful ambush, Lena's team had chosen to attack down a narrow street themselves. While Lena had the speed to make hit and run attacks, Satya wasn't quite as quick. Even so, despite repeated strikes, she still wasn't counted as 'down', thanks to Angela's constant stream of healing. 

For her part, Amélie wanted to tell him to focus on Angela, but the thought made her feel a little bad, considering how hard the doctor was working. Besides, between the training sim's own rules preventing 'downed' operatives from communicating, and the fact that Reinhardt was so obviously enjoying himself, she decided to simply sit and let him be.

She let her gaze and mind sweep over the remaining operatives, her mind's eye opening up and giving her a little more insight on the ever-serene Zenyatta, watching over the others-

_Ah, it's wonderful to see them getting along so well- if only the world would follow their example._

-running back for another go, giving Amélie an insouciant grin as she did so, Lena-

_Catsuit catsuit catsuit_ Emily's **sooo** gonna love this _catsuit catsuit catsuit_

-leading Reinhardt into an ambush, getting him pelted from all sides by mini-turret fire, Satya-

_Sacrifice is sometimes necessary, if it is according to plan; how I love it when one comes together._

-swinging his hammer around, his own laughter rivalling Commander Reyes' in terms of volume, Reinhardt-

Gott im Himmel, _but this is wonderful! Truly, the best fights are between best friends!_

-and finally, determinedly 'healing' Satya, Angela herself.

_I don't want to be here._

Amélie blinked a few times, surprised at what she saw. At first, she thought it was simply her imagination running away with things. But even as the fight wound to a close, a laughing Reinhardt raising his arms in playful surrender, she kept seeing it. It was in Angela's stance, her lack of triumph in victory, even her slightly sluggish movements-

_I don't want to be here._

Amélie didn't really pay much attention to most of what happened next. She didn't really pay attention to Commander Reyes's admonitions, nor Lena's gloating, though she must have made the right noises and said the right things, because both walked away satisfied. Neither did she quite manage to catch Reinhardt and Zenyatta's compliments, and it was only that she seemed so adept at acting on autopilot that they didn't seem to notice anything unusual either.

It was only when she placed her hand on Angela's shoulder later in the locker room that she found herself standing in the here and now. “Angela?” she asked softly; she heard Lena and Satya leave earlier, and she didn't think Angela would have wanted them coming back out of curiosity. “Angela, is something wrong?”

She saw Angela suddenly turn towards her, the doctor's mouth moving slightly. “I... I'm not sure,” she finally said after a few seconds. 

_I am,_ Amélie thought, but she nodded. “ _Je comprends_ ,” Amélie said, nodding. “Just remember, you always have Gerard. And... and me, if you need to talk,” Amélie said, surprising herself a little. Sure, she was the one who started the conversation, but even so, the thought of being able to do more than an actual trained psych-

_torturer_  
penitent  
fool 

-ologist was laughable. And when Angela came to her quarters later, dressed in her normal garb, to give Amélie her daily dosages of nanomachines and nutrients, she did so in silence. All the while, Amélie beat herself up for not noticing it earlier- Angela didn't seem depressed, as much as she did seem... defeated. As if something that had been bubbling deep inside had finally come to the fore. As horrible as it made her feel, Amélie hoped that it was a recent development- at least then she could feel better about missing it.

Angela's little case snapped shut, the doctor having given Amélie her last injection. Amélie rubbed her forearms, the tiny little devices that had just been injected into her already clearing up the small bruises she had there. After a moment though, Amélie noticed Angela hadn't moved. “Angela?”

“Gerard let me read the reports from Lijiang,” she began. “And while you mentioned your dissociative experience, you didn't mention my... my...” Angela looked away for a few moments. “My episodes during the attack. Why?”

“What episodes, Angela?” Amélie asked.

Suddenly, Angela took hold of Amélie's forearm. Amélie braced herself for the squeezing pressure she was sure would come, but while Angela's grip was firm, it wasn't oppressive. “Amélie,” Angela said softly. “Please, Amélie, no games. Not right now.”

Amélie nodded slowly. “I did not think it would be proper to have said such things, especially not after you did so well on the mission,” she said. “I thought it was something you and Gerard would have discussed privately- I didn't want to interfere.”

Angela sighed, and released Amélie's forearm. “I wish I could talk to Gerard about it,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “But he... he knows too much,” Angela said, with a short, sad laugh. “And too little at the same time,” she finished ruefully.

“I'm not sure I understand,” Amélie replied.

“Gerard... he tends to see everything in black and white- not ethically, but as problems that either have a solution, or need one.” She smiled softly. “He is such an optimist, maybe too much so. It is easy to get caught up in it- to not see, or even want to see, where he's going.” She looked up to Amélie sadly. “But I'm preaching to the choir, aren't I?”

“Somewhat,” Amélie admitted- she had never been so relieved as when Gerard had announced not just an alteration to her psychological treatments, but also a stop to them.

Angela nodded. “Yes, it is always so simple for him- but that is not always how life works, does it?” Angela asked, leaning back in her seat, staring off into space for a few seconds. “Do you know why I became a doctor, Amélie? And why I want to quit now? Same reasons behind both of them.”

Amélie shook her head as she sat up; instead of lying down in her bed like she usually did when Angela came around, now she moved so that she sat directly in front of her. “No, but I suspect it's important.”

“It is,” Angela said. “Are you sure you want to hear this, Amélie? It won't be pleasant.”

“I am no stranger to unpleasant,” Amélie said.

“...no, no you aren't, are you?” Angela said. She took a deep breath, and began.

* * * * *

Angela was five the day her parents died.

She was awoken late at night by the sound of gunfire outside her home, a split second before her father slammed open the door to her room. “Angela! Oh, Angela, my dear!” he cried, his formal northern High German sounding strangely archaic compared to the more cosmopolitan Swiss dialects Angela's mother and community used. He scooped her up, his large arms adding to the warmth provided by Angela's cotton onesie.

“Papa, wait!” Angela said. When her father stopped, she pointed at the closet. “I have to put on a dress! Mama will be mad!”

Her father stared at her a moment, with eyes as grey as his hard should have become, then gave her a crooked smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Don't worry, my darling,” he said, as he carried her out of the room. “I don't think Mama will mind this time.”

Angela still worried though, as her father hurried down the steps of their home. Her worry turned into fear when she saw her mother- who didn't mention anything about her lack of proper clothing. “Oh, Siegfried,” she said, embracing her husband. “I'm so worried!” she said. Though the lights were off, the darkness outside was lit by the dull orange glow of fire that made her blonde hair gleam, and deadened the blue of her eyes. In the distance, Angela could hear the sounds of what seemed like fireworks and screaming, but this wasn't New Years' Day, and the screaming and yelling didn't sound anything like the joyous sounds she remembered from the first time her parents let her stay up late enough.

“Don't worry, Sophie, we'll be-” he father said, when there was a knocking at the door. Only Uncle Klaus ever knocked, everyone else used the Zieglers' doorbell. This wasn't like the gentle rapping of Uncle Klaus's knocking, however- this was a violent banging on the door, and Angela whimpered when she saw the door shake violently, its hinges vibrating.

“Angela,” he father said in a low, terrified voice that shocked her into silence. “I'm going to put you under the cabinet now, all right?” he said, taking the small girl to a desk/cabinet, upon which were placed various family photos and knick-knacks the Zeiglers had collected over the years. He quickly nudged Angela into the darkness underneath the cabinet, and placed a finger on his mouth, right before the door shattered inward in a shower of splinters, causing her mother to scream. Her father quickly stood back up to take his wife in his arms and shield Angela from the sight of whoever came in.

“This is all your fault, Ziegler!” the man who had come in shouted. Angela was shocked that she knew him. Papa had said he was a 'bad man who hated omnics', but Angela didn't need him to tell her that. Angela didn't mind omnics- she had been taught by one in school, and Miss Frieda (in reality, FR-13-D4) was very nice to her. But one day, the man who had just kicked her home's door in had thrown a brick through the window, and hit Miss Frieda. He'd called her a 'filthy clanker', which Papa told her was a bad word, and the police had to take him away. 

Now he stood in the Zieglers' living room, clad in nothing but jeans, with an unlabelled bottle in one hand. “Tolerate the clankers, my ass! This is what you get! They're rampaging all over Basel because sissies like you let them run all over the damn place, because you wanted to give them _human_ rights! Because you didn't let patriots like me kill every single last one of them!

“Hateful bastards like you are why they're rising up in the first place, Heinrich!” Sophie Ziegler yelled back. Despite the look of pure hatred he gave her, she did not back down, and neither did her father. That was something that stuck by Angela through the years- the thought that maybe they knew what was going to happen, that they knew Angela was watching, and that some things were important enough to stand up for, no matter the cost. “Now let us go! We need to get to the shelters-”

“Shelters?!” Heinrich said with disgust. “Shelters are for humans, proud humans, who would never side with dead metal over living flesh! And what about you, huh?!” he added, turning to Angela's father. “You're letting your woman fight for you now? Where is your pride as a man?”

“In my principles,” Siegfried Ziegler said. “And I thank God every day that Sophie shares them.”

Heinrich took one last swig from his bottle, casting it aside onto the carpet near Angela. The little girl stifled a squeak of fright as it hit the floor in front of her; it was a small mercy that between the thickness of both the bottle and the carpet it didn't break. It was large though, large enough for the glass to distort what came next. That was another small mercy, Angela would later remember.

Heinrich let out a short, bitter laugh. “You thank God huh? Good news, Doctor, you can do it in person!”

Sophie screamed and Siegfried said something, Angela couldn't hear, before two popping sounds nearly deafened her. Through the distorted glass of the bottle, Angela saw her parents fall to the ground. She saw Heinrich walk over to them and hold something she couldn't make out in his hand, like he was about to toss something on them, or even offer to help lift Siegfried up.

Then Angela saw it erupt in flame a few more times, and she suddenly knew what it was. Papa hated guns, never allowed one in the house, but he couldn't stop Angela from watching TV. Its sound was wrong, it was too loud, it was real, too real.

“Stop that!” she cried, climbing out from under her hiding place. “Stop hurting Mama and Papa!” she yelled, running over to Heinrich and hitting him in the hip with all her might.

“Get off me!” Heinrich said, kicking the little girl aside. He walked over to her, towering over the little girl. “Look at you, you little bitch,” he said. “I bet you're just as bad as your parents, just some little omnic-lover waiting to grow up and poison our great nation.” He spat on her, and Angela instinctively flinched. When she looked back up, it was into the barrel of his gun. “Gotta pull weeds up by the root,” he said quietly. “Before they grow up.” 

Suddenly, there was a whirring sound by the window, and Heinrich turned around, gasping in shock at what he saw. Angela looked behind him, and she saw it: a Bastion unit towering outside her family's window. Screaming in defiance, Heinrich fired at the Bastion, but after one round, his gun ran out of ammunition. Angela didn't see the look he gave the Bastion before it spooled up its autocannon and took Heinrich down in one short burst, high-velocity shells smashing through the window as easily as they did Heinrich.

Angela stared up in fear at the Bastion unit, its autocannon still spinning. It stared at her, the glow of its slit red 'eye' hellish in the light of fires both close by and distant. Then it turned, and kept walking.

For a moment, Angela was stunned, her feet like lead weights attached to her legs. It was only after she heard her Papa cough a little, that she was jerked out of her trance. “Papa?” she asked, joy lifting her heart. Papa might have been hurt, but he was going to be okay!

“An... Angela...” he croaked, and Angela felt despair spear her in the gut again.

“Don't worry, Papa! I know what to do!” she yelled. She looked up; on top of a high shelf above the fireplace, where the parents of Angela's friends would have hung hunting trophies or prized rifles, was a first aid box. It was too high for Angela to reach, but she wouldn't let that stop her. She picked up Heinrich's fallen bottle, and threw it at the box, knocking it down. Even as her father gasped and whispered, Angela ran for the box's fallen contents. She picked up a handful of medicated band-aids and ran to her fallen parents. 

“It's okay, Papa,” she said, trying to mimic the soothing tones her father would use when he treated her own scrapes and bruises. “It will be okay,” she went on, putting the band-aids over the small holes Heinrich's gun made in her parents. “There! All b-better n-n.... now...” she said wiping the tears that were now streaming from her eyes. “You're all b-better now, r-right, P-Papa?” she sobbed.

“Yes... much better...” Siegfried said, giving her a weak smile. “Such a good girl... clever girl...”

“Papa?”

“...love you very much...”

“Papa?”

His eyes were closed, peaceful. Maybe he was sleepy, Angela thought desperately. She made up a story there and then, because you couldn't go to sleep without a story. It was one where a princess rescued a prince from a dragon, where despite all the impossible odds a five-year old could think of, the princess prevailed in the end. She searched her mind for the words her father used when she herself asked how the heroes in his stories managed to survive such impossible odds.

“B-because,” Angela sobbed, “heroes never die,” she said, turning to her father. “Heroes never die, Papa! Heroes never die! Papa!”

* * * * *

Angela let out a short breath, and looked up. She gave Amélie a wan smile of her own. “And there you have it,” she said quietly.

Amélie couldn't find the words, any words, to hide the horror and shock she felt, to quell the sickening nausea she felt. She could feel her mouth opening and closing, but nothing came out of them. She even felt her hand rising to her mouth, covering it, covering the shame she felt at not being able to say anything.

Angela didn't seem to mind, however, instead looking downwards again. “Back in Lijiang... God help me, Amélie, you saw how I reacted with those people in the market,” she said quietly. “And with Zenyatta,” she added. “If I wasn't standing in the outside like that, if I had not made myself a target...”

She buried her face in her hands. “But that... that's not the whole reason,” she added, her voice still that same haunted whisper. “So many people died, Amélie, so many people,” she said. “I thought, that with the staff and the suit and the training and the- the- the _everything_ , I would have been able to save everybody,” she said, wringing her hands in frustration. “But I didn't. Because I couldn't.”

She gave Amélie a wan smile then. "I thought I could do what you did, you know that? What I-" Her voice hitched in her throat. "What I _made_ you into," she said, choking the words out. "I thought if I could do that, i could make up for what I did to you," she said. "If I could take your place..."

There was a silence in the room for what seemed like an eternity. Amélie would never be able to quite piece together the swirl of emotions that made her do what she did next, but she would be forever grateful for them. She slid off her bed, hooked her arms under an unsuspecting Angela's, and lifted the other woman into a tight embrace. Angela gave a little gasp of surprise as Amélie did so, but after a few seconds, she returned the gesture. After a few more, Amélie felt the side of her neck and her shoulder grow wet as Angela broke down. The other woman's hands almost clawed at Amélie's back, her arms almost choking the breath out of Amélie, but Amélie still held on.

Eventually though, Angela gently pushed herself away from Amélie. On an impulse, Amélie reached for Angela's cheeks, brushing away stray tears. “Are you all right, _mon ange_?” she asked quietly.

Angela nodded. “I will be, thank you,” she said. “And thank you too, for listening.”

“ _De rien_ ,” Amélie said. She wiped away another errant tear, but another impulse seized her, and she ended up cupping Angela's face. “Angela, whatever you decide, I will not oppose it. But, if I may say something...?”

When Angela nodded, Amélie went on. “The numbers do not lie, _cherie_ , many people died- but many more lived, because you were there to save them. To save me,” Amélie added. “We are all alive today because of you, Angela. Because of the actions _you_ took and the work _you_ did. Again, I won't stop you making your choice- but if you ever thought that you were alone on the battlefield... you're not.”

Angela stared at Amélie for a second, then broke into a small smile. “You're being very forgiving,” she said. “I'm not sure I deserve it.”

“Me neither,” Amélie said, giving Angela a small grin of her own. “But sometimes, it's not a question of who deserves what, is it, hm?”

“No... no, it isn't,” Angela said with a small smile, before catching Amélie by surprise by embracing her tightly again. “Maybe... maybe you're right,” she said. “Maybe I will stay on.”

“That- that would be nice,” Amélie said. Suddenly, she felt her blood growing cold (or rather, colder) even as she felt warmth envelop her cheeks. _Wait, am I-_

Angela drew back. “Is something wrong, Amélie?”

“N-no,” Amélie said, giving Angela a desperate smile. “You simply- your hug was a little tight, that's all.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry!” Angela said. “I suppose I don't know my own strength,” she laughed, before taking Amélie's hand. “But again... thank you, Amélie. I don't think I could have made this decision without you,” she added, before nodding at Amélie and picking up her equipment. “So... same time tomorrow?” she asked, a strange, hopeful tone in her voice.

“Yes,” Amélie replied, unaware of her own growing smile. “That would be nice.” 

Yes, it would be very nice indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God help me, but this was hard to write.


	6. Shrouds

She sat alone in her near pitch-black lair, the glow of holoscreens the sole illumination, their light flickering as her garishly-nailed fingers danced across them. She let out a small sigh of satisfaction at the notifications popping up on her many, many screens- soon, the whole world would know of President Guillermo Portero's little... indiscretions. Mexico would be thrown into chaos, and the United States would soon find itself with a nation falling to ruin at its borders.

And the blame would fall upon a small hacker collective that would grow to become a global boogeyman.

Or at least, that was the plan. The young hacker named Sombra could only rely on the 'assurances' (more like grandiose speeches) of her mysterious employer that things would go his way. She took a sip of tequila as she looked at the data coming in, the drink liberated from the fridge of this particular hacker cell's leader. It wasn't very good, to be perfectly honest, but with all the A/Cs at full blast, she needed some way to make herself a little warm. As badass as her coat was, it just wasn't fully up to the task.

Then again, she could be as cold as the Los Muertos hackers currently lying down on the ground or slumped against the wall, their bodies cooling unnaturally fast thanks to the A/C units working overtime. It wouldn't fool a skilled coroner for long, but just long enough for Sombra to make her getaway. The poor idiots never knew what hit them- with the sounds of gunfire coming from outside, the video games they played and the violent movies they were watching, Sombra was quite sure the majority of them never even saw who killed them. The only one to give her anything remotely resembling a pause was Big Marco; the guy was cybered up so much he was practically one of the omnics Los Muertos hated. He survived her initial burst, but even then he could only look up at Sombra in bewilderment as he begged for mercy that she didn't bother giving him. 

Now he lay against the wall like his friends, blood seeping out from between his joints, electricity arcing across the blood pooling around his legs. Sombra was sure that her boots would protect her against the electricity, but made a mental note to give him a wide berth anyway- why take the risk? It was a pity though, as she wasn't able to search his pockets as she did the other fallen Los Muertos hackers. Oh well, perhaps the police would think the 'rival gang assassins' who killed this cell just missed Marco's pockets, or that they didn't want to touch a body whose cybernetics was still malfunctioning and twitching .

She sent a final flurry of messages, this time to her mysterious benefactor. He had promised her an 'in' into what she saw as the Holy Grail of modern hackerdom- the databanks of the international peacekeeping organization known as Oversight. In fact, some of what she was able to find out about Portero came from Oversight's databanks, albeit indirectly- it turned out that a large part of the President's embezzled money wasn't going to some Swiss bank account, but to Oversight itself. Apparently he had anti-omnic tendencies that Mexico's Parliament didn't share. 

Sombra was quite amused when she found that out- if only Los Muertos knew just how many views of theirs he shared. Honestly, if they had worked together, their corpses wouldn't be here- they might have even tried to hide Portero's little indiscretions. It would only delay the inevitable, of course- even now the fat old man's embezzlements had attracted too much attention not just from Mexican law enforcement, but from international agencies. 

On a more personal note, Sombra felt like her employer was making a big mistake- the way she saw it, he should have waited for Oversight to get caught in Portero's blast radius, then asked her to move in. As far as she was concerned, Oversight was just a larger version of the police agencies that had hounded her all her life. That being said, her employer had paid well to have her collect information on Portero, and paid even more to have her wreck him and his reputation, that was all that really mattered. Oh, and to assist in a strike somewhere in China, but since all that job entailed was making sure her employer's transfer of various Oversight and Project Deadlock data remained untraceable, she didn't actually regard it as work. 

That being said, while her surface attempts to pierce Oversight security were successful, getting deeper was proving frustrating. Most of Oversight's most secure servers were using quantum systems that Sombra's hastily-assembled ghetto systems just couldn't keep up with. That being said, Sombra doubted she could do so unless she had computers on par with Oversight's, and if she had those she'd be the shadowy figure giving orders to poor hackers across the world.

Every messages she wanted to send out had been sent, and she idly wondered if she should try crack Oversight's systems with the massive rig in front of her. She quickly put the thought out of her head; as impressive as the cobbled-together, wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mass of machines and wires in front of her looked, it had barely more power than the cybernetic rig she had on her arm- and that was being optimistic. Odds are, it'd short itself out the moment it was put to any real test. Sombra sighed- this was probably one job she wouldn't be able to complete. Of course, she couldn't care less about what her employer thought, but she was a professional, damn it!

Also, giving her employer a refund felt _wrong_ , somehow.

Instead, she sent one last, coded message to the small patch of off-the-grid Internet real estate she had managed to secure for herself and her employers. In it, she said she wasn't able to complete the job, and here was the payment back. Once that was done, she made sure to clean up as much as she could before walked out of the dingy apartment into the seething masses of Mexico City.

A few minutes later, the shooting started.

* * * * *

At the sound of the training room's klaxon, Angela let go of the breath she had been holding back, and wiped her brow in exhilaration. She'd spent the past week neither in her office nor in training (this was her first day back, in fact), instead spending them working with Torbjorn in engineering to work on her Valkyrie suit and staff. What little time she otherwise had was spent in the labs to improve her nanomachines' healing algorithms and update their reference databases. Thankfully, there weren't any serious injuries for her to deal with, and in any case it was about time the rest of Oversight's medical staff learned to handle things on their own.

Angela even blushed a little when she remembered how enthusiastically she talked Gerard's ears off every night. She could see he was trying to hide it, but he was definitely doing his best to stave off boredom. The poor man probably had his mind on work, and she couldn't help but chatter. She would really have to apologize to him later, she decided.

Right before she thanked Amélie for her pep talk, and the thought of doing so warmed her a little. Angela had kept the pain of her childhood hidden for so long, it felt wonderful to finally unburden herself. That it was to a woman who, by all right, should have hated her was one thing. That Amélie was still willing to accept Angela, to trust her life to her- that was something even greater. Thanking Amélie was the least she could do. Now if only Angela could find her...

“Ho there, Angela!”

Angela turned around as Reinhardt walked up behind her. She was surprised she hadn't heard her northern neighbour clanking up behind her- was she that deep in thought? “And 'ho there' to you too, Reinhardt!” she replied in German. English certainly had its uses, but there was something special about German that she'd never be able to abandon.

“That was a good fight today, eh?” he replied in German as well, laughing. “I admit, I had resigned to go down fighting when I found myself flanked on both sides, but then you came along, and I FELT **ALIIIVE** AGAIN!” he roared, raising his hands to the ceiling.

The loudspeaker crackled again. “Damn it, Reinhardt!” Torbjorn yelled down to him in English. “Turn the volume down, will you?! Some of us are trying to collate combat data here!”

“No promises, my little friend!” Reinhardt yelled back in English, before switching back to German as he turned back to Angela. “He does have a point though, a-ha! I should keep it down, shouldn't I?”

“Only enough so you don't bother people,” Angela said, waving at Zenyatta and Satya as her two teammates walked by before turning her attention back to Reinhardt. “I'm sorry, Reinhardt, I don't mean to sound rude, but is there something you wanted from me?”

“Oh, it's not a problem! I just wanted to ask you something! Let's see... what is it... hmm...” he trailed off, rubbing the chin of his armour. “Oh yes! You seemed a little lost in thought after the battle! I wanted to ask what is it that was bothering you!”

“It's nothing much,” Angela said, waving him off. “I was just wondering where Amélie was.”

“Eh? Is that so?” Reinhardt asked with a note of surprise. “Didn't Gerard tell you? He said he already had!”

“Tell me? Tell me what?”

“Well, you didn't hear it from me-” Reinhardt began, leaning forward and speaking with the back of his hand held at where his mouth would be. “Or, maybe you did, if I was the only person Gerard told, though I don't think that's likely. Where was I? Oh yes! You didn't hear it from me, but Gerard said he and Lieutenant Morrison were taking Amélie out for some specialized combat training today.”

“What? 'Specialized combat training'?” Angela asked. “Gerard never mentioned anything like that to me,” she said. True, she was doing a lot of talking for the past three days... but Gerard had never been shy about interrupting her when he had something really important to say, and this seemed to fall in that category. “When did he tell you this?”

“Let's see... oh, it was three days ago,” Reinhardt said. “He asked me for permission to hold it at an abandoned village near Eichenwalde, and I told him to go ahead,” he added. “Bad Apfel, it's called- a wonderful place, before the Omnic Crisis,” he said, sighing as he shook his head. “It had so much music- and the shadow puppet shows they put on! Then the Bastions came, and now there's nothing but echoes, shadows and fog.” He thought for a moment. “And trees. Lots of trees.”

“What kind of training could Amélie get there that she couldn't here?” Angela asked. It wasn't as if the training room couldn't simulate a forested area, after all. “Did Gerard say anything else?”

Reinhardt shrugged. “I'm afraid not, Angela. Something to do with her psychology, maybe?” he said. 

Angela's eyebrows creased. “If that was the case, he should have at least told me out of courtesy. And why involve Lieutenant Morrison at all, if that were the case?”

“There you have me, Angela,” Reinhardt replied, grimacing and rubbing the back of his head. “Honestly, Angela, if I had known, I would have said something!”

“No, no, it's all right, Reinhardt,” Angela replied, giving him a relaxed smile she didn't feel in the least. “I'll just go... go see Gabriel about it, ask him if he knows anything.”

Reinhardt nodded, and waved Angela off as she walked out of the training room. For a moment, she wondered if she should go back to her room and change out of her suit, but her legs seemed to have made the decision for her. She got more than a few curious glances as she walked through Oversight's halls in her full Valkyrie armour, but those barely registered compared to the voice in her head.

She tried to tell herself that her fears were entirely rational, that she was just a doctor concerned with a patient. And it was true, utterly true- in this moment, she was Dr. Angela Ziegler, and there was no harm in her wanting to know what the hell her patient Amélie Gaillard was being put through. That was her story, and she was going to stick with it. Nothing to do with wanting to show off to the other-

She stopped mid-stride shook her head, rubbing her brow to clear her mind. This was not the time for... for a scattered mind. Right now, she needed to focus on the subject at hand. It took her a moment to reorient herself, but within a few minutes she was standing in front of Commander Reyes's door. Without hesitation, she pressed the buzzer next to it- if she was interrupting anything, she would deal with the consequences later.

“What?” came the angry response from inside, followed by the sound of someone clearing their throat. “Sorry about that. Come in.”

Angela entered just as soon as the doors opened- a little too quickly, in fact, as the edges of her wings clipped the opening doors. The sound drew Gabriel's attention from the file her was looking at, and he raised an eyebrow at seeing Angela in full battle rattle. “Uh, Angela?” he said, pointing at her. “Is there something I need to know about? I don't remember you saying anything during my last physical.”

“What?” Angela asked, temporarily discombobulated, before figuring it out a second later. “No, no, it's nothing like that, you're fine, Commander. I was just in a hurry,” she said. She knew it wasn't much of an excuse, so she decided to press on before Gabriel could realize that. “I wanted to register an official complaint regarding Lieutenant Morrison, as he seems to have taken my patient, Amélie Guillard, on an unsanctioned training operation without my consent or knowledge.”

“What are you talking about?” Gabriel asked, rubbing his head. “Look, Angela, I don't know what you've heard, but Jack's just doing some boot work, accompanying the supply boys on a trip to the city,” he said. “Honestly, I think he was getting bored, cooped up here. Now, I have more important-”

“What I've heard, Commander, is that Lieutenant Morrison asked Reinhardt for permission to use a portion of his ancestral lands for, and I quote, 'special training' involving one of my patients in the vaguest possible terms. As her physician and teammate, I would have expected to be apprised of any changes in her schedule. After all, I did make sure Command was informed of my own Valkyrie suit improvement-”

“All right, all right, that's enough,” Gabriel said, waving her off. “You don't have to quote the damn Oversight Manual of Procedures at me, Doc,” he said, sighing as he continued. “Look, I'll call Jack and we'll clear this up. If I've found out you've screwed up and you interrupted me for no reason... well, I'll have to talk to Ana and Jack, but we'll figure out some kind of hell for you to catch. Deal?”

“Deal,” Angela said firmly, and Gabriel nodded as he reached for a button on his table. 

“Lieutenant Morrison, you there?” he said, as a short burst of static told him that comms were open. “This is Commander Reyes to Lieutenant Morrison, come in Lieutenant Morrison.” Still no answer. “Hey Jack, you there? It's Gabe!”

He drew back. “That's odd,” he said, checking some readouts on his desk's screen. “His comms seem to be transmitting okay, so they've not been compromised... where did Reinhardt say he was going?”

“A village called Bad Apfel,” Angela replied. “It was destroyed during the Omnic Crisis, so it might not show up on the map. I will call Rein-”

“No, no, it's showing up here,” Gabriel said, checking the readouts on his desk. “Hmm... yeah, that's where Jack's comm transmitter is- why isn't he responding?”

Angela didn't know, but the knot of despair in her gut told her it wasn't anything good. _Oh Gerard, what have you done? Why didn't you tell me?_

_Why didn't Amélie tell me?_

* * * * *

Part of Amélie wondered why, if she couldn't properly process food any more, she still felt uneasiness in her gut- like what she was feeling at the moment. Another was curious as to what this training session was going to be about; she had opened her door that morning to see Lieutenant Morrison standing in front of it with a small smile and some vague orders about a 'special training exercise'. Oh, he made sure to word it as politely as possible, but it was plain to Amélie that it was an order from his body language alone.

But the greater part of her was concerned about Dr. Lacroix, sitting across her in the VTOL, somehow looking smaller than he should have in his harness. He was the only other person onboard the VTOL when it took off, and unlike the more-talkative-than-usual Lieutenant Morrison, kept his silence. Most concerning of all for Amélie though, was that despite his efforts to hide it, the man was terrified. 

Terrified of Jack.

And terrified _for_ Amélie.

“Something wrong, Amélie?”

Amélie turned from watching Gerard's darting eyes to meet Jack's steadier ones. “Just trying to anticipate what I might have to face, Lieutenant Morrison,” she replied.

The Lieutenant nodded, and leaned back in his seat, the harness barely fitting over his overly-muscled frame, especially now that it was in his full battle armour. “Good, I like that kind of anticipation and planning in my squad,” he said, and Amélie made a mental note of the _**my** squad_. “You know, for someone who's never had any kind of military training, you've certainly taken to it well. Guess you've found your life's calling, eh?”

“I... I wouldn't say that, Lieutenant,” Amélie replied diplomatically, drawing back unconsciously. Those eyes... she remembered those eyes, remembered seeing them from outside her body. His voice would rise passionately, it would lower to a growling whisper, but those eyes would always stare at her, unchanging. “I will not deny, however, that the presence of my _camarades_ has made it easier.”

“Still though,” Jack said, glancing at the cockpit as the VTOL started its descent. “I'm guessing your, shall we say... _unique_ mental situation made it easier, didn't it?” he said.

Amélie wondered if he could hear her hissed intake of breath over the sound of the VTOL's engines.

“I mean, think about it,” he went on blandly, turning back to Amélie. “Heightened empathy and spatial awareness? That's one hell of an asset when training, isn't it? You could pick up on what your buddies are doing faster than anyone, incorporate them into your own actions without you even being aware of it,” he continued. “I'm thinking of expanding the project, actually. Maybe even exporting it- lots of people would want that kind of data. It'd be a damn sight cheaper than making super soldiers, and I should know!” he laughed.

 _How dare he?_ Amélie thought, her brow darkening and her mouth opening in a snarl as she prepared her response. _How **DARE** he?! Does he have any idea what I went through?!_

Movement out the corner of her eye caught her attention. She gave a sideways glance at Gerard, and the look of fear he gave her stopped her response in her throat. “That would not be a good idea,” she said slowly. “Oversight's medical staff has as much part in my successful training as I have,” she said, her neutered response tasting like bitter ash in her mouth. “And I wouldn't trust anyone without their expertise to not make a mess of it.”

“I take your point,” Lieutenant Morrison replied, before he turned to Gerard. “Anything to share with the class, Dr. Lacroix?”

“N-No, Lieutenant, it was all very clear,” he said, and Amélie felt a pang of guilt- and a little fear. All right, so he saw Dr. Lacroix catch Amélie's eye, that was one thing. However despite his casual tones and gentle grin, she could see that he was, at the very least, annoyed with the doctor for doing so. Lieutenant Morrison was obviously trying to wind her up; apart from the fact that it was working, she hadn't the faintest clue why.

The VTOL's engines died down as it landed. As the bay doors opened, Amélie walked out to see the mist-shrouded ruins of a small village. Her boot clicked against something- looking down, she saw the shell of a ruined Bastion combat unit. A heavy squelching from behind her made her turn around to catch sight of Jack walking out and stretching his arms, taking in a deep breath with every sign of enjoyment. “Take in that cool, fresh air!” he said, smiling widely as he directed his gaze back at Amélie. “Nothing like the big city, eh?”

“If you say so,” Amélie said. “I don't get much liberty,” she added. Not that she would have wanted it- not only was her German atrocious, but she didn't want people to see her like... like she was. “You still have not told me what we're actually here for.”

“Hey, relax! You're too tense!” Jack said, patting Amélie on the shoulder. “Like I said, this is just some special training between us. I mean,” he said, walking slightly ahead of Amélie, “I've heard so much about you from the docs, I just had to see Oversight's most-talented agent for myself!” he said, still sporting that overly-friendly grin.

“All right,” Amélie said slowly. “So how is this going to work?” she asked. 

“Simple,” Jack replied. “You and me, _mano a mano_ , grunt versus specialist,” he said, giving Amélie a few air jabs with his fists. “Honestly though, I haven't been out in the field for... damn, it's been a while!” he said. “So I thought I'd give my guns a little exercise- and my battle rifle too!” he laughed. “And what better person to do it with than with Oversight's finest, eh?”

Again, Amélie felt a sense of bewildered disorientation. First he needled her where it hurt with his talk of her mental state, and now he was praising her to high heaven? It didn't make any sense-

Unless that was what he wanted.

She looked at Jack once more, _really_ looked at him, and she noticed his eyes narrow, his smile turn from friendly to predatory .

_So you've finally figured it out._

“There we go,” he said quietly, yet somehow more audible over the sounds of the living forest around them. “Shouldn't have taken that long, Guillard,” he added, turning around and placing a hand to his ear. “Big Sky, this is Lieutenant Morrison, How about you go 'round the place, have yourself a tour. I'll call back when I need you.”

“Why are we really here, Lieutenant?” Amélie asked, as the VTOL took off.

Jack snorted, and pointed into the distance. “We're going to start off in two- I guess you could say, somewhat adjacent- rooms of that castle ahead of us there,” he said, pointing into the distance where a towering structure stood out of the mist. “I'll let you pick which. Once I give the order, we'll come out guns blazing. If you win, I'll see about increasing your privileges, maybe even approve those changes you requested to your psych schedule-”

“Wait, I thought those were already approved!” Amélie said, her voice cracking. 

“They're probationary changes, Guillard,” Jack called back, waggling his finger at her as he walked on. “One dissenting opinion from a member of Command, and, well, we'll go back to how things were while we figure out where we went wrong.”

“Angela wouldn't stand for it!” Amélie blurted out.

“Then to hell with her! I'll find someone who would!” Jack growled as he looked back to Amélie. “Now, are you coming, or not?”

Amélie was tempted, so tempted to simply turn her back and run into the German forest- but Jack's last statement held her back. She had to admit, she wasn't sure how much punishment she could take from Jack if he'd set his mind to it, but she'd have done her best to withstand it. To have his wrath affect Angela as well...

“What if you win?” she asked, as she made to follow him.

“Good soldiers don't question their officers, good officers don't doubt their actions,” Jack replied, his voice still tinged with anger. 

They made the rest of the short walk in silence, though Amélie was surprised when Jack kept to his promise of letting her choose her starting position. She didn't see much difference between it and Jack's own position, at least distance-wise; both of them were small rooms separated by a ruined wall, and connected by a small passageway, above which abandoned buildings still stood. Those looked a little newer, and Amélie realized that the castle had fallen long before the village had been established. The villagers had simply repurposed the fallen castle to their own ends. 

Amélie walked into her chosen room, a medieval armoury turned into a museum room, judging by the medieval weapon replicas scattered here and there. She couldn't help but feel tense about her immediate situation, and why not? All Jack would have to do is step out of his own room, and he'd have the perfect shot at her. 

She looked out from her starting position. Across a courtyard that had been long exposed to the elements, was a wooden building that still seemed sturdy, but also had open windows she could use as a vantage point. She'd also spotted some ramparts above her starting position when she was walking in, but she didn't have much confidence in their ability to provide cover. 

Either way though, trying to attack Jack directly seemed like a bad idea, and she would have to start moving as soon-

“Go!” came the command in her tac helmet. 

Amélie immediately sprinted forward, her arm outstretched towards the building as she left the armoury. She felt the familiar tension pull her towards the building just in time, right as a swarm of small rockets exploded where she had just been standing. Her reflexes took over her body's movements, her legs leaping the rest of Amélie's body into the building, even as shocked surprise flowed into her voice. “ _Merde!_ Were those-”

“Live?” Jack's voice said over the comms. “You're damned right they were,” he hissed, but Amélie could almost _hear_ his mad smile. “McCree told me once that there's nothing more dangerous like a cornered rattlesnake,” he breathed. “Now... now let's see if that's true about spiders.”

With a snarl of her own forming on her lips, Amélie swung out of the building, Huntsman aimed right at the small passageway connecting her start location with Jack's. One second passed. Then another. And another.

 _Where is he?_ Amélie wondered- then she realized that Jack had far more battlefield experience than she did. Of course he'd know about the passageway...

With another desperate lunge, Amélie fired her grappling hook at the arch above the passageway. Her feet had barely cleared the wooden windowsill when she heard a burst of fire behind her, and felt bullets barely miss her head, one even parting her hair mere centimetres from her scalp. 

She swung into the passageway, spinning quickly to fire a burst from her rifle. To her dismay, she realized her Huntsman was still firing hard-light bullets- after all, she was supposed to be in training right then. No use in throwing her 'Venom mines', either- her training versions simply emitted a short-ranged radio signal that told anyone who stood in a certain radius long enough that they were 'dead'. _Well, this is certainly a learning experience_ , she thought as she ran in the opposite direction, once again narrowly avoiding a burst of fire that tore up the place she was standing. 

But even as her body moved, her mind was racing. Jack seemed much too fast for his bulk, faster even than Amélie. After all, in the space of a few seconds he'd managed to sprint around what seemed like half a fallen castle. It had taken him a second and change to run up a rickety stairwell, and as Amélie zipped away she could swear she'd heard him jump down. She'd heard he was part of some US super-soldier program, and she now wondered about just how much of the old Jack was still left.

She zipped up the rampart wall above Jack's own starting room, and leapt off onto the wall that separated the two of them, into the maze of houses that lay on the wall. None too soon- again, a swarm of micro-missiles tore up the masonry she had just grappled onto mere seconds ago. The sound of footsteps on wood and stone echoed through the empty buildings, making Amélie's heart sink as she realized they were coming closer. Whatever gene-treatments Jack underwent must have improved his own base senses as well-

Even as she ran, Amélie's mind raced. She wasn't going to survive a physical fight, that much was obvious. But if she could turn Jack's strengths against him, maybe with a little help from what little she could do...

She leapt out a window, grappled a nearby tree, and swung herself into another nearby structure. “You still haven't told me why we're here, Jack!” she yelled as she did so. _Keep moving. Don't respect his authority. Don't stop. Destabilize him. He knows where I am now._

Suddenly, a burst of fire splintered the place where Amélie landed- followed by Jack's voice. “You will respect my rank, Guillard!” he roared.

“Is that why we're here?” Amélie shouted back, eyes darting back and forth between the shattered wall she had leapt through and the sole stairway leading up into the room. “Let me guess, you _earned_ your rank, and you're jealous that some mere _street dancer_ is getting credit for missions you should have, hmmm?”

There was a single agonizing moment of silence. Amélie tapped her helmet, hoping to make use of its improved tactical sight, but the damned thing was powered by a small kinetic energy generator, and evidently Amélie had somehow not moved enough to power it up. Still, she couldn't hear Jack from any direction, and decided to risk peeking out of the shattered wall.

She didn't see anything, and she didn't think Jack could change colour like a chameleon, or had access to cloaking technology. Even so, she wasn't sure she wanted to risk running out- but she felt she didn't have any other choice. She'd already confirmed her location, so the least she could do for herself was shift positions. 

She leapt down, immediately hooking onto the top of a ruined doorway that looked like it belonged to a long-downed VTOL. It was surrounded by mud, which she hoped would slow Jack down. At the very least, the squelching would alert Amélie to Jack's approach. And of course, if he _did_ have access to cloaking technology, Amélie hoped that the old clichés would prove true and show off his position.

“I get it, Jacky boy, you're an old soldier,” she said as she hid under the crashed vehicle, forcing some playfulness into her voice. “You thought you could find glory in Oversight, but _hélas_ ,” she said with mock mournfulness, “how sad, you end up- oh, how do you Americans say it? 'Put out to pasture'? Like an old cow, hm? Poor, poor Jackie-boy Morrison! Oho, maybe you offended someone back home, _oui?_ Is that why you're so far away from home, Jack? Doing paperwork while younger, better soldiers do your job better than you ever could?”

Again, silence. Like the house, the VTOL had two exits she had to dart her eyes between. Amélie was just about to move on ahead, the usefulness of mud be damned, when she heard laughter. Genuine, heartfelt laughter.

“God- _damn_ , Amélie!” Jack said, his laughter seeming to come from every direction at once. Amélie didn't know which terrified her more- the seemingly omnipresent laughter, or the note of genuine admiration she heard in it. “Are you trying to psychologically manipulate me?” Another round of laughter. “Very good! Very good... all right then, I guess you've earned this.”

Amélie leapt out of her VTOL, grappling hook out in mid-air. It seized upon a buried Bastion 'corpse', pulling Amélie up and over the fallen omnic. Behind it was a sheer cliff, which was a quite the literal downside. On the other hand, Amélie knew (or at least, was pretty sure) that Jack wouldn't be able to approach her from that direction. As far as she could see, there was only one way for him to approach her. Once that happened, she- she'd figure something out; it wasn't as if her rifle was configured for lethal fire, after all.

But Jack never came, at least, not then. “Let me tell you what really gets me, Amélie,” Jack said. This time, his voice came through the comms in calmer, more even tones. “I can handle paperwork, no problem. Younger soldiers looking for glory? Soldiers don't get good pay, they don't get good food- glory's all you get sometimes,” he continued, his voice getting quieter.

There was a long sigh from Jack before he went on. “You know what makes a soldier a soldier, what separates them from thugs with nice suits? Discipline. Control. Awareness. Don't get me wrong, Gabe's a good squad leader. He's got the chops and the balls to get the job done- but nothing else. He doesn't know how to stay on top of things. He'd be happy just getting orders from Petras for the rest of his life.”

“And you're not?” Amélie asked, peeking out from either side from behind the fallen Bastion every other second.

“Orders are one thing, and if you're some fresh boot private, or some REMF no-rate officer who's never seen combat, that's probably enough for you,” Jack replied. “But Oversight's more than just another army. It's right there in our name, 'Oversight'! We're supposed to be looking over what the rest of the world's doing- and we're a complete failure!”

“What are you talking about?” Amélie asked. _Where was he?_ “Workers' Row, Lijiang-”

“-should have never happened!” Jack interrupted angrily in an angry snarl. “We responded to those crises, Amélie, when we should've stopped them before they were a twinkle in their planners' eyes! We reacted when we should have acted! Instead, we're spending weeks playing Cowboys and Indians in training chambers instead of going out and fighting the real bad guys! That's the kind of thinking that keeps you from losing wars- or winning them.”

Amélie readied her grappling hook; when Jack finally came for her, she was going to be ready. That being said, she had to admit, she was getting curious. “And what war are you fighting? Against whom?” she asked. 

“Last I checked, Oversight's supposed to keep the whole world safe. Officially, mostly against omnics. Unofficially? We have a duty to every innocent man, woman and child to make sure tomorrow looks as close to today as possible. Sometimes that means shutting down an omnic uprising. Sometimes it could mean a strike team wrecking a whole bunch of Yakuza before they trash a bustling city. We're not big, but we've got skills, we've got tech, and we're not using them properly.”

Shadows in the trees, too quick to tell if they were made by Jack or Amélie's frenzied imagination. _Keep him talking. Make him reveal himself, let down his guard._ “But if you were in charge, things would change?”

“You're damned right they would.”

 _A crack in the distance. Peek out, nothing._ “Say that Gabriel does... step down,” Amélie said. _Animal? Gunfire would have scared them off..._ “What makes you think the rest of Oversight would fall into line?”

“Ana's got principles, and I respect that,” Jack said. His voice had a little reverb to it- maybe he was in a structure. “She won't accept it easily, and that's all right too. But she'd follow orders. Gerard's a coward, and from what I've seen so's his wife-”

“You're wrong,” Amélie hissed, then mentally kicked herself when she realized she spoke aloud.

There was a moment of silence from Jack before he went on. “All right, I take that back, point's yours. Angela's got more guts than I gave her credit for, going out in that suit of hers. But she'll fall into line, especially if, say... someone she trusts were in Command with me.”

It took a few seconds of tense silence before Amélie realized just what Jack had said- or rather, asked. “You are offering me a promotion?” she asked incredulously. “Is this- is this a job interview?”

“ _Now_... now she gets it,” Jack said, and once again, Amélie could practically _hear_ the hungry grin he must have had. 

“I'm not killing Commander Reyes for you, Jack,” Amélie said with incredulous disgust. _Is **this** why he hasn't moved in yet?_

“That's 'Lieutenant Morrison', Guillard,” Jack replied. “And that's not what I want from you,” he said, his voice a little quieter, a little more... wistful? Amélie didn't know whether she was hearing him right, or whether her own hopes were colouring her perceptions. “We walked through hell together, and even with global law and order at stake, that still means something. No... that's between me and Gabe. I owe him that much, at least,” Jack added. “But after that, there's going to be an empty Command seat, just waiting for a Lieutenant's stripes.”

“And you're offering that to me? Over Reinhardt? Torbjorn? Angela or Gerard?”

“Oh please, Amélie, be realistic! Reinhardt's just walking muscle, Torbjorn's hopeless outside his workshop, and Angela's the same outside her surgery,” Jack replied. “But you? You can read people, you've got an eye for terrain, operational adaptability, determination- that's officer material, Amélie. Anyone can get experience on the job, that's what the goddamned job's _for_.” There was another short pause before he went on. “So what do you say, Amélie? We have a deal?”

Amélie would admit later... much, much later... that Jack's offer had been tempting- but not tempting enough. What he said next did nothing but salve what little doubt she felt for wanting to refuse it.

“Come on, Amélie,” he said. “After all that hell Angela and Gerard put you through, after all the pain you've suffered, surely you want a little something in return? It's got to have been worth something?”

This time, it was Amélie's turn to pause before giving an answer. “”No,” she said quietly, right before conviction hardened her voice. “No, it doesn't. What Angela and Gerard did to me was wrong, you're right, and there is no way they can truly pay me back- which is why I won't ever ask it of them. But they're trying to do the right thing now, and _that_ is all I could ever want or ask of them, which is more than I think I will ever get from you.”

“What are you talking ab-”

“Angela and Gerard wanted to make me a weapon, and that's what you want me to be, isn't it?” Amélie replied hotly. “And while you might not want me to kill Gerard, I'm so so very sure you can think of many other uses for an assassin and officer who owes her power to you.” Her mouth curled into a sneer. “I am not a weapon to be used at your pleasure, _Jack_. And you will not use Angela as a weapon against me,” she said. “Not her, not Gerard.”

“Interesting...” Jack replied, and Amélie didn't like the curious tone of his voice. “So, that's your final answer, then?”

Amélie nodded unconsciously. “ _Oui_ , it is,” she said grimly, making sure she knew what he meant by 'final'.

This time, Jack didn't bother with words. Amélie heard his boots splashing through the mud. She spun around the Bastion unit, and spotted him charging past the fallen VTOL. She barely managed a single shot, which Jack dodged, before he sent a barrage of fire at her. She switched her Huntsman to assault mode, but she had barely peeked out from behind her cover when a barrage of missiles sent her back behind cover again. 

She looked up at the shattered wall of the nearby building- the one she had leapt through just minutes before, though it seemed like years- as well as the cliff behind her. A desperate plan began to form in her mind, especially since she was beginning to have some idea where Jack was going to attack from, judging by her own limited firing arcs and his own speed. She took aim with her hook-

The squelching stopped. 

As the hook launched, she heard the sound of leather on combat-ready steel. 

As the rope jerked her forward, she felt the sun's warmth leave her body, blocked by Jack's shadow when the soldier finished climbing up the fallen omnic. 

As the wind rushed past her, she turned in mid-air while Jack's battle rifle tore up the soil she had been standing on.

As she pulled the trigger on her rifle, she had just enough time to savour the surprise on Jack's face as her hard-light bullets hit him square in the chest. Though non-lethal, the hard-light bullets still had mass- which meant that they had force when they impacted. 

Amélie landed on her back painfully, skidding and rolling across the wooden floor of the house she'd leapt into. Wincing as she rose, she touched her back, and her hand came away with wet patches of maroon liquid, which Amélie recognized as her own deoxygenated blood. Walking back along the path she had taken in her landing, Amélie tried to ignore similarly coloured small patches on the ground, and she wondered if the Caduceus staff also got rid of splinters.

In any case, that was a question that could wait for later, after 'how will I get back now?' and most importantly, 'is he really dead?'

Leaping down the house's walls, Amélie held her Huntsman at the ready. The rifle was switched back to its sniper configuration, a shot fully charged- Amélie reckoned she wouldn't have had enough time for two shots in any event. Her eyes darted back and forth; she wasn't even sure where to look, but she pressed on anyway. She leapt behind the Bastion unit, and found nothing. She then pointed her rifle down the cliff where Jack's body had to have fallen-

And that's when she felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of her head. “Good try, Guillard,” Jack said quietly. “But I was playing mind games, running stealth ops- and yes, faking my death, when you were wondering if red crayons tasted like strawberries.” There were a few moments of silence. “Tell me something, Guillard?”

“Why should I? You'll kill me anyway,” Amélie spat back.

“Maybe, or I could let you go,” he replied. “After all, you're not going to tell anyone about what happened here.”

“Are you mad?” Amélie asked, a little surprised by how she felt. Once she got over the terror of wondering if she was going to die, actually facing it gave her a strange sense of liberation. “What makes you think I would cooperate with anything you did?”

“Not what, who,” Jack replied calmly. “After all, you said it yourself- what the Doctors Lacroix did to you was wrong. Thing is, I can control Gerard, but I'm not sure I can really count on Angela without your support,” he said, and Amélie's heart sank. “If the things she did ever got out to Director Petras, via the UN Oversight Council? Via the Associated Press?” Jack gave a short laugh. “That's the thing about email, and having access to who knows how many documents. With one press, I'll ruin Angela and her career. At the very least, she'd be thrown out of Oversight- at worst, who knows? Prison, maybe?”

“Enough!” Amélie snarled. “I'll answer your question.”

There was a snort behind her. “You just did,” he said. “I guess she really is the reason you didn't run. I had my suspicions right back there at the start, of course. Just needed a little confirmation.” Suddenly, the barrel was pulled away from her head. Amélie turned around, just in time to catch Jack shudder for a moment before breaking into mocking laughter. “Damn, Guillard! First DPD, now Stockholm Syndrome? You're lucky I've got our comms on a closed frequency. If Gerard heard about this-”

Amélie's mouth went dry. “Don't you dare!” she said as she turned, rifle in suddenly weak hands, but it was empty defiance and she knew it. And if she knew it, odds were that Jack did too.

“I won't, don't you worry,” he said, shaking his head. “You keep your mouth shut, I'll do the same. Not like you haven't got your own share of problems,” he said, turning away from her, and walking back to where they originally landed. Amélie wanted to marvel at Jack's breathtaking arrogance, at him turning his back on her- but then again, it wasn't as if she could have done anything.

At least, not at that moment. 

Suddenly, she saw Jack stop dead in his tracks and raise a hand to his comms. “Speaking,” he said in a quiet, grim voice. Amélie saw him stiffen. The hand he had to his ear curled up a little, while the one holding his rifle trembled slightly before he managed to steady it.

“Trouble, sir?” Amélie asked blandly. It was a petty revenge, but if Jack didn't see fit to kill her there and then- well, she was going to take what little vengeance where and when she could.

Not that it seemed like he was going to give her much of either. He turned around and pointed a warning finger at her, and she returned the gesture with a mocking bow of her own. “None of your concern,” he said, turning back to his comms. “Go on.”

 _Who is he talking to?_ Amélie wondered, watching him. His posture seemed too stiff for him to be speaking to the other members of Command, and she knew perfectly well that he liked showing off his authority over the rest of Oversight-

_I can use this._

Amélie jerked backwards a little as Jack straightened a little. He tapped his comms, turning them off and looked at Amélie. “Do you get cold in that getup?”

“What?” Amélie asked, thrown by the abrupt subject change.

“That catsuit,” he said blandly. “Don't you get cold in that?”

“What are you-”

Jack gave her a wide smile. “Good news. We're off to warmer climes- namely, Mexico.”


	7. The City of Fools' Gold, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I know Dorado is a separate town in canon Overwatch, in this AU it's an addition to the Mexico City sprawl. Just in case anyone wonders why Dorado is in Mexico City. Also, my apologies for taking so long- I had to rewrite this chapter a few times, derp.

Angela was the first in the hangar when the VTOL came back, and after the alert came in. It wasn't hard- while the rest of the assembled team were busy equipping themselves, she hadn't taken her suit off since the training session the hour before. She was the first on the tram when Gabriel put the call out, practically leaping to the trams when she heard it. Angela considered waiting for the rest of the team, but she was angry, and she intended to give the three missing Oversight agents a piece of her mind, consequences be damned. It was only common decency to spare them the embarrassment of being chewed out in front of the other agents.

Of course, it would also mean that if Lieutenant Morrison decided to give her a hard time, she'd have as few witnesses as possible. With that said though, she wasn't going to let a superior officer of any rank browbeat her in front of-

_Amélie_

-Gerard and Amélie, not when she had a legitimate grievance to air with both Gerard and Jack. She wasn't going to let the men off easily, that was for sure!

Angela's resolve crumbled a little though, shortly after she entered the hangar. It began well enough- she ignited her wings as she saw the VTOL's bay doors open in the distance, and she touched ground shortly before the doors did. But as she opened her mouth to give the vehicle's occupants a piece of her mind, her words died in her mouth.

Gerard was the first to step out- no, not step, stagger out. Angela had never seen her husband so... ill, for lack of a better word. His usually meticulously-kept hair was in a tangled mess, and his skin had taken on a strange paleness, made even more obvious by the thin sheen of sweat on it. His expression was haggard, and it distressed Angela a little when she saw the relieved expression he gave her, with nothing of his usual self-assurance evident in it.

However, Angela wasn't going to let him off easily- at least, not there and then. “You and I are going to have a very long talk when I get back, Gerard,” she said sternly, to which Gerard could only nod weakly. “Yes... well then,” she added. Before Gerard could walk away though, she gently took him by the shoulder. “Wait,” she said, and Gerard stopped in his tracks. “ _Liebling_? Please get some rest,” she added softly, to which Gerard gave another weak nod.

As he walked off, Angela saw the next person to walk out of the VTOL- and while her ire at her husband had dissipated, seeing Jack's calm, smiling face only served to bring that anger back. “And you!” she said, striding up to the man. “What were you thinking?” she asked, when her eye caught sight of the VTOL's other occupant. “What were either of you thinking?”

“Now, now,” Jack said, his voice as calm and even as his expression, “there's no need to be bringing Amélie into this. What happened today was entirely my idea, and she came along on my direct order.”

“And you'll answer to Commander Reyes for it!” Angela replied, scowling at the man.

Not that it seemed to take the smile off his face- if anything, her anger only seemed to amuse him further. “I'm sure I will,” he said, still sporting that smirk of his. “In fact, I'll go do that right now,” he said, stepping out of the VTOL, giving both Angela and Amélie a friendly wave as he walked off to the trams. “Hey, Big Sky!” he called out as he passed by the cockpit.

“Yeah?” Big Sky replied, somewhat unsurely, leaning out.

“Mind coming with me a bit? After all, I'm guessing to need to handle the refuelling, or whatever it is you do after a flight,” he said, before turning back to Angela for a moment. “Besides, I get the feeling the doctor and her patient might need a little privacy.”

“If you say so,” Big Sky said, the uncertainty in his voice a little stronger as he opened the cockpit and got out.

“ _Scheißkopf_ ,” Angela muttered under her breath as she watched Jack walk off, Big Sky in tow. “And _you_ ,” she said, turning her attention to Amélie. “Why didn't you say anything? Do you know how worried I was?”

Amélie's cheeks deepened in shade, and Angela silently cursed herself- for all Amélie's talent at reading people, Angela must have come across much harsher than she intended. “Get up from your seat,” Angela commanded, readying her staff. “Don't make me ask twice, Amélie,” she added, when she saw Amélie's reluctance. 

“I don't need-” Amélie began, though she had already taken off her seat belt by the time Angela interrupted her.

“I'll be the judge of that,” Angela said, gently taking Amélie's chin and turning her head this way and that. “No injuries there,” she said to herself. “Turn around, Amélie.” With some reluctance, Amélie turned around, and what Angela saw caused her breath to catch in her throat. “What the- Amélie, your back! It's- It's...”

Truth be told, it wasn't the worst wound Angela had seen, not by a long shot. But on Amélie, whose natural healing rate was dramatically lower than that of normal humans-

_and whose fault is that?_

-the mass of scratches and bruises on her back would have taken weeks, maybe even months to heal by themselves. Angela reached a hand out, ran trembling fingers over the ridges Amélie's bare back. For all that her catsuit helped hide her heat signature, Amélie was still human; considering how much she had to exert herself on the battlefield, being completely enclosed in a skintight suit would have tested her endurance beyond all reasonable limits. But it did mean she was dangerously exposed...

“Oh, Amélie, what did you do...?” she asked quietly.

“Come now, _Docteur_ ,” Amélie said in far-too-casual tones, “I am not a child, you know that.”

“That's enough, Amélie,” Angela said, with perhaps more force than she'd intended. She took Amélie's shoulder, and gently but firmly turned the woman to face her. “Amélie,” she said, taking a deep breath. _Damn that Jack- did he know that this would happen? Or something like it?_ “Amélie, I know I'm not a good person-”

“Angela-”

“I'm not done yet,” Angela said, giving Amélie a stern look that quickly softened. “I... I'm sorry. Please, Amélie, will you hear me out, at least?”

When Amélie nodded slowly, Angela went on. “In any case, you... you've treated me with far more kindness than I deserve,” she said softly. “Me, and Gerard,” she added. “I know you said before that you're not here to absolve my guilt- well, too bad,” she said, giving Amélie a wan smile. “You've done a lot to take that weight off my shoulders- off my soul, if you don't mind me being dramatic,” Angela said, pressing her free hand to her heart. “And you did that by- by...” _Damn it, why is this so hard?!_

Angela took another deep breath. “Hold on, let me try again,” she said, clasping her hands together before making the second attempt. Amélie, when Gerard and I looked at you in that hospital bed, all we saw was a test subject,” she said quietly. “For weeks afterward, you were an Oversight asset, as far as we were concerned.”

“And now?” Amélie asked quietly.

Angela smiled at Amélie. “You're Amélie Guillard, my friend. My teammate as well, of course,” she added quickly, “but a dear friend besides.” She smiled at Amélie, and on impulse, took the other woman's hand. “Please, Amélie, you've come so far- don't throw that away by talking like you're not important. Promise me.”

Amélie was silent for a moment, but only because a smile of her own was dawning. “I promise, Angela,” she said.

Once again impulse took hold, and Angela caught a surprised Amélie in a gentle hug. “Thank you, Amélie,” she said. As she broke the hug, she felt herself feeling a little warmer than usual, and Amélie was looking at her a little strangely. Then again, why wouldn't she? It was only natural for Angela to be embarrassed- after all, she didn't often show affection to anyone but her husband. It made perfect sense for her to be a little shy ab-

“Well then! Now, where were we?” Angela said hurriedly, and a little breathlessly. “Ah yes, hold still,” Angela said, collecting her thoughts as she stood back and aimed the Caduceus staff at Amélie's back. Evidently figuring out that protests would have been useless, Amélie cooperated silently. “Now turn around,” Angela said firmly when she was done. “Hold out your hand,” she said, retrieving a syringe from a case on her belt as Amélie did so. “Thanks goodness I brought these,” she said absent-mindedly as she took Amélie's hand, pressing the plunger and sending the silver-tinged liquid inside into one of Amélie's veins.

“You knew this would happen?” Amélie asked, sounding impressed.

Angela shook her head slightly. “Pray for the best, prepare for the worst,” she said. “In any case, I suggest you stay behind for this mission-” she began.

“ _Pardon_?”

“You heard me, Amélie,” Angela replied firmly. “I've just given you an extra dose of nanomachines, and they will help your recovery process- at the very least, any remaining scars and muscle damage should heal within the next few hours or so.” she said. “But I don't want you risking any more-”

“Yet you are going?” Amélie asked. “In that case, I'm sorry, Angela- but I'm going as well.”

“Amélie, I just said-”

“ _Oui, mon Docteur_ , I heard what you said,” Amélie replied, her soft voice tinged with triumph as she leaned in towards the doctor. “But here's the thing: You're not the only one with a- a dear friend,” she added. “And if you're going,” she said, rising back to her original position, “so am I. Don't argue.”

Angela was about to retort, when a third voice interrupted her, causing both her and Amélie to jump a little. “Listen to her, Doctor.” The two women turned to face the speaker, who turned out to be Lieutenant Amari. “Thank you, Amélie, by the way.”

“What for?” Amélie asked.

“If you had agreed to take the day off, I'd have ordered you back onboard,” Ana said, walking up into the VTOL towards the CO's seat next to the cockpit. “This mission is taking us to urban territory. Trust me, Amélie, snipers like you and I will be valuable, to say the least,” she said grimly.

The sound of loud clanking drew their attention once more to the VTOL's entrance. “Don't worry, we'll prove our worth as well!” Reinhardt announced in his usual hearty tones. “Isn't that right, my little friend?”

“Oh for- must you always call me that, Reinhardt?” Torbjorn said, shaking his head as he walked past Reinhardt into the VTOL, pausing only to tinker with Amélie's Huntsman rifle. “There you go,” he said. “Back to normal,” he added, muttering under his breath about Jack. Amélie thanked him as she and Angela made way for the diminutive Swede, then got into their seats as Reinhardt followed behind. Seconds later, Satya joined them, wearing an adapted version of her Vishkar uniform, the matte finish of the suit making it plain that it was made from ballistic memory thread. 

“Everyone here? Good,” Ana said. Behind her, there was a whoosh and a clank as Big Sky returned to the cockpit. “Our target is in Mexico City,” she said, inserting a small data chip into a panel near her seat, creating a holographic map in the middle of the VTOL as it took off. “Riots have overtaken the city following a crackdown by President Portero's men in the slums. We believe they wanted to halt the release of certain sensitive details regarding Portero's presidency by dissident groups in the slums. That said, Portero's men failed to halt the leak, though only by mere minutes.”

“So why us?” Torbjorn asked.

“Why not us?” Reinhardt said. “Innocents are being oppressed by a government that want to silence them! It is our duty to help people in their fight for freedom!”

“All right, let me rephrase that,” Torbjorn said, rubbing his forehead. “Why is Oversight getting officially involved? Hell, why am I and Satya being called in? She's talented, don't get me wrong,” he said, giving a momentary nod to Satya before looking back at Ana, “but she's been here- what, a week? Maybe a little more?”

“The government sector of the city, the Dorado District is protected by automated defences that are in turn powered by one of the world's first full-scale fusion plants,” Ana said. “Which makes it a very obvious target in an insurrection. Our primary objective is to secure that plant, and await further orders as the situation develops. Thankfully, Satya worked on them during her time with Vishkar, correct?”

Satya nodded. “They were a joint project between Vishkar and LumériCo, two years ago,” she said. “I didn't do a lot of work at the time; I was only nineteen, and Vishkar was- is less tolerant of young people than Oversight is,” she added. “I do know enough to hopefully help Specialist Lindholm, though.”

“I'm sure, Specialist Vaswani,” Ana said. “As for the rest of your questions, Torbjorn, if anyone asks, we have had reports of Null Sector being involved,” she said.

“Wait, what? 'If anyone asks'?” Torbjorn asked. “You mean that's not why we're getting involved?”

Ana shook her head. “You know as well as I do that Oversight does not send armed responses to mere rumours, and you were right when you said that we do not, as a rule, handle civilian uprisings,” she replied. “But this order comes from Gabriel himself, and this is the actual reason why,” she said, pressing a button on the panel she'd inserted the data chip into. The holographic map disappeared, and the image that replaced it made Angela gasp in surprise, while Amélie's eyes narrowed. 

The image itself was blurry, and it was obvious that whoever took it was running at the time, but even so, Angela for one would have recognized its main subject anywhere. It showed a group of garishly-dressed, lightly armed gang members firing away at someone or something behind the photographer. But leaping above the gang members was a man enclosed in what seemed like full body armour, but which Angela knew was the result of cyborgification. His sword was captured mid-swing, and it was obvious he was somehow deflecting fire.

“Familiar, isn't he?” Ana said to the two women, and they both nodded. “For those of you who don't recognize the man in front of you, he has been identified as one Genji Shimada, a member of the Shimada clan, and one of the leaders in the Lijiang attack. The Shimada were once a ninja clan, but as times changed so did they- into a Yakuza syndicate.”

“What are they doing in Mexico?” Angela asked.

Ana shrugged. “That's what we want to find out. Honestly, I don't think Gabriel really cares though,” she said, shaking her head a little. “He just wants payback for Lijiang. In any case, Genji is a secondary priority, but one that we must pursue if there is even the slightest chance of taking him down, either dead or alive,” she sighed. 

“Now, all of you try to get some rest,” she added sternly, pressing a button on her armrest that reclined her seat, pushing her legs forward even as it leaned her back. “You've all had a strenuous morning- some of us more strenuous than others,” she said, looking at Amélie. “Even at full speed we'll take around eleven hours to reach Mexico City. If you're not rested when the shooting starts, you might just end up sleeping longer than you want.”

* * * * *

Gabriel Reyes took a deep breath to calm himself when he heard his door's buzzer. It wouldn't have been so bad if he was doing something other than poring over various security reports. Even the ones that were supposed to be good news didn't do much for his mood- sure, Lieutenant McCree was found innocent of being a leak. Wonderful, whoopee, hooray! Oversight was leaking like a goddamned sieve, an an entire week was spent looking at someone who wasn't involved.

The buzzer rang again, and Gabriel's headache went from 'pounding' to 'who the hell let the idiot with the jackhammer in here?'. He walked up to the door and opened it. “What?!” he said-

“Commander Reyes,” Jack said calmly.

It seemed to Gabriel that idiot with the jackhammer had brought friends. “Jack,” he snarled. “Get in- I don't want the kids to see Mom and Dad fight.” As soon as the door closed, Gabriel decided to let loose. “What in the _hell_ has got into you, Jack? You want to take an agent out for a little stroll, fine, do that- but you keep the rest of us in the loop, dammit! I had no idea of your little field trip until Angela came in here and raised hell!”

“Sorry, Gabe,” Jack replied as he took a seat in the corner of Gabriel's office. “But it was something I had to do.”

“Oh _really_?” Gabriel asked as he walked back to his desk. “Please do on, tell me more, Jack. I'm dying to know,” he said with sarcastic exaggeration.

“Well, you've been reading the reports, right? Not just from Workers' Row and Lijiang, but also from the regular training sessions?”

“Of course I have!” Gabriel said, trying to mask his slight embarrassment with righteous anger. “Get to the point!”

“Well, that Guillard girl the Doctors Lacroix have been working on? She's turned out quite well in all the reports, hasn't she?”

“Yeah, it's really good,” Gabriel replied, feeling a little lost. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh come on, don't tell me you hadn't noticed!” Jack replied. “She was a dancer! Some street performer on the Paris streets! The only reason she's even here was because she kind of knew Gerard, who along with Angela decided to give her the full Frankenstein treatment after that attack in Paris,” he said. “You expect me to believe that she somehow manages to perform on par with actually-trained military agents? Only person here who's younger is Lena, and she's a prodigy! Even Satya has had more training and experience than her!”

“So... what? You didn't believe her hype?” Gabriel said incredulously, shaking his head. “Damn it, Jack! Of all the people in Oversight, you're literally, _literally_ the last person I'd expect to break the rules. And now you're telling me you, a squad leader, took one hell of a promising agent out on an unauthorized training mission without anyone knowing just because he didn't trust her medical reports?”

“If she failed, that's about as far as my reasons would have gone, yes,” Jack admitted. “I'd have called for an evaluation of the Lacroixs- after all, doctors are supposed to be impartial, right? After all, if Amélie didn't perform as advertised, then their reports might have been just their attempt to cover their asses and excuse wasting Oversight resources.

He leaned forward. “But here's the thing- they were right about Amélie. She didn't fail- hell, if anything, she passed with flying colours. Which brings me to the second reason I took her out.”

“...I'm listening,” Gabriel said begrudgingly at last, despite himself.

Jack tapped Gabriel's table. “Look, we all know Oversight's expanding. We've got more funding, we're expanding the training room- but all that doesn't matter if we don't have the manpower to fully take advantage of that.”

“You know that's not your decision to make, right?” Gabriel asked.

“That's not a damn excuse and you know it,” Jack replied hotly. “Petras listens to you- if you say you need more boots on the ground, he'd listen. And we do- just turn on the TV, and you'd see that the world needs Oversight more than ever.”

Gabriel shook his head and sighed- here they go again. He'd thought Jack had got his idealism out of his system during the Omnic Crisis. “Jack, I've said it before and I'll say it again: we're not the World Police, Jack. We can't go after every idiot bunch of terrorists, or criminal organizations, or whatever bugbear's got up your ass this week.”

“And we don't have to!” Jack replied, standing up, though it was obvious to Gabriel that he dearly wanted the exact opposite. “We just need enough men to give us the kind of success stories that keeps funding coming in!”

Gabriel held up his hands; Jack was clearly getting worked up, and Gabriel had just had his office refurbished. “All right, all right,” he said. “Let's say I believe you, what does that have to do with Amélie?”

“We'll need a new squad leader,” Jack said, getting back in his seat. “Someone who can keep their head on their shoulders, and who can properly read and adapt to their team as well as changing circumstances.”

Gabriel nodded slowly. “And you think Amélie's got what it takes?”

“More than that- she tried to psychologically manipulate _me_ , Gabe,” Jack said, with some surprising pride. “Went on about how I must have felt obsolete and all that jazz, trying to goad me into a mistake.”

Gabriel smirked. “And do you, Jack?”

Jack shrugged. “I admit, it's crossed my mind a few times, especially then. She managed to get the drop on me more than a few times,” he said ruefully. “Turns out a lifetime of dance makes you faster than a super-soldier, and her... mental state means she's got my number if I so much as blink.”

Gabriel couldn't help but laugh a little, his anger at Jack dissipating by the second. Even so, he still had one last question. “All right, so she chumped you, and you want her as an additional squad leader, fine. Why didn't you tell anyone though? That's a major breach of protocol.”

“Opsec,” Jack said. “We have a leak in the base, that much is clear after Lijiang. The only people I told were Gerard- he's a psychologist, after all. Next to Amélie, he's probably the best-equipped to read us like his medical books. If there was anyone who could pass as innocent, it's him. The only other person who knew was Reinhardt, and I just cannot see that guy as some shadowy super-spy, can you?”

“if he was, he'd be the best damn one around, that's for sure,” Gabriel said, before sighing again. “All right, you're off the hook somewhat. I'll still expect a report from you regarding that little exercise, and I'm giving you a choice- 20% pay cut, or mandatory unpaid overtime for the next month to the tune of... let's say, three extra hours a day.”

“Already skipping to 'cruel and unusual', Gabe?”

Gabriel pointed a warning finger at Jack. “Don't push it, Jack, or I'm making it 'usual', got me?”

Jack nodded, leaning back in his chair. “I got you, Commander.” He gave Gabriel an easy smile. “You bet I've got you.”

* * * * *

Sombra was pissed for quite a few reasons. The first was that she had been played. She didn't have proof of that, truth be told, but she knew that she had been played. There was no way the uprising could have begun right after she uploaded her data to the Internet- said data would keep the uprising going, to be sure, but it certainly didn't start the shooting. Honestly, she wouldn't have minded if she hasn't been caught in the crossfire.

The second reason was having to wait for rescue. Bad enough that her employer springs this on her at literally the last minute, then he promises her a way out of Mexico- in ten to twelve hours. When she said she wouldn't be able to survive ten to twelve minutes, that _idiota_ had the gall to tell her that 'she was a big girl, she could handle herself'. Oh, if she lived long enough to meet him, she'd 'handle' him, all right!

But it turned out that said employer had someone willing and able to take her in and keep her safe while she waited, so that took some of the sting out of the abandonment she was feeling. Problem is, that led to her third reason, which was something that somehow annoyed her even more than being abandoned in a city rapidly going to hell. Okay, so her mysterious benefactor had arranged for this to happen without telling her, that was not something a man just springs on a girl. But hey, at least he'd made sure someone was around to save her, that was great! Wonderful! Simply fantastic! There was one slight little with the whole arrangement.

The man who saved her? Was an _ass_.

“Okay, okay, okay!” Genji said, as they sheltered inside a slum apartment building, the glare from the late afternoon sun outside drowning out the soft glow of Sombra's computer screen. “So get this, right? The government soldiers are running down the street, shooting everywhere, but I'm cool and badass, you see, and they shoot, bang-bang-bang, but I'm knocking their bullets out of the air, right, and-”

“ _Mierda, cabrón_! Don't you ever shut up?” Sombra yelled back, her voice easily drowning out the faint sound of gunfire outside. “I'm trying to work here!”

Genji gave her a dismissive wave. “ _Haaai, hai_ , he said, obviously sneering under his cybernetic helmet. “You know, there's a lot of girls out there who think I'm cool.”

“But let me guess, you don't date high-schoolers.”

“I don't know, third years can be HEY!” He walked up to her and leaned against her computer. She didn't really need it for most of her work, but even a spoofed IP address could be traced. With a physical computer in a fixed location, Sombra could use her own powerful cybernetic tech, but route it through the computer, and leave no trace to herself if she had to run. That being said, she still didn't much care for the Japanese goon leaning against it. “That was not cool, _nee-chan._ Not cool at all.”

“What can I say? I tailor my message to my audience,” Sombra retorted.

There was a slight pause from Genji. “I'm going outside to see Hanzo,” Genji said, walking to the door and closing it behind him. Before Sombra could sigh with relief, he slammed it open again. “HE THINKS I'M COOL!” he yelled, crashing the door shut behind him again. 

Sombra waited a few seconds before she finally let out an exasperated sigh. Now she could get back to work, assuming she could re-rail her train of thought. If Genji had hung around for much longer, she might have actually have had to do the work on her screen, which was spreading disinformation and scrambling communications on government channels. Bot work, in short.

Instead, she could actually get down to things that would actually require her attention, such as trawling the depths of various international databases for data her mysterious saviours. Not that she could actually dig up anything that she'd actually describe as 'juicy'- oh sure, there was plenty of information about their criminal exploits, about the Shimada clan, and especially about the shenanigans Genji got up to. But as secret as that data was, there was nothing to answer the questions Sombra had about them.

Namely, what connection did they have to Sombra's mysterious employer?

She sighed, watching redundant data float past her AR receptor-enhanced eyes. Normally she wouldn't have been this diligent about researching her employers- this wasn't the first time she'd worked for generic Mysterious Figures™, nor was this even the first time she was betrayed. It was, however, the first time that she'd been caught in the middle of a national uprising thanks to an employer's efforts, and that was the kind of thing that could sour a working relationship.

And she was sure that this was her employer's fault, thanks to Genji and his big mouth. Apparently, he and Genji had spent the past week or so bringing in weapons to the gangs, while at the same time informing the government that an uprising was imminent. That Sombra somehow missed it still made her cringe with embarrassment. 

It wasn't, however, Sombra's biggest question. That was reserved for the 'why?' From what she knew of the Yakuza was that while they were certainly no strangers to getting paid, they usually kept their business in Japan and left international business to selected cronies. Yet here were two high-ranking Yakuza, direct heirs to the family no less, wandering around Mexico City as if they were on a working vacation. Either her employer had _really_ deep pockets, they owed him some kind of honour debt (and if what she'd found out about Lijiang was right, then that debt was surely paid), or he had power beyond mere money.

Sombra leaned back. It was that last possibility that gave her pause- someone like that would be one hell of a stepping stone for her own ambitions. Or the greatest hindrance to them- she wasn't sure, and that lack of certainty, of information, was something she wasn't used to. She sighed and shook her head- either way, she thought that investigating the Shimada brothers would be able to provide her with the information she sought, but no dice.

She got up from her seat, and set her bot programs to harass and distract governmental forces. She needed some fresh air (relatively fresh, at least- this _was_ Mexico City after all), even if that meant sharing her company with Genji. That said, it would also mean being able to share said time with Hanzo, who was someone she found a lot more acceptable. At least he knew when to shut up.

Activating her implanted IFF and tracker programs, she soon found the two brothers standing on top of their apartment. Around them, nearly-abandoned would-be skyscrapers loomed, white elephants from an era when the neighbourhood still had promise. The real things lay in the middle of the Dorado district, the gleaming towers of glass and steel in the horizon. Sombra wondered just how aware the people in those buildings were of the uprising's progress- were they told the truth of how large it was? Or was it just a 'small slum riot'? She supposed she could hack herself a video feed of the news channels, but eh, she wasn't really interested beyond mild curiosity anyway.

“Oh great,” Genji grumbled. “Sombra _obaa-chan_ 's decided to visit,” he said.

“Genji, behave,” Hanzo replied, and Sombra tried to hide a smirk. “My apologies, Miss Sombra- my brother tends to speak out of turn.” As always, he dressed in modified ninja garb. Sombra knew on an academic level that he can't have been dressed like that the whole time he had been in Mexico, yet she just couldn't picture him in anything but the orange and black clothes he wore then. Ironically, considering just how garish Mexico City's street gangs looked, it was the perfect outfit for blending in. Only his bow and arrows threatened to stand out, at least to Sombra- but if he wanted to run around with medieval weapons against government rifles, that was his problem, not hers.

Sombra waved him off. “I'm getting used to it,” she said, and Hanzo nodded.

“Thank you,” he replied. “Do not mistake me- it can prove useful on occasion,” he said, and Genji gave Sombra a small, cocky salute. “But he still has not quite learned how to control his instincts yet.”

Genji gave his brother a pat on the shoulder. “Come on, _aniki_! Like you'd ever really try hold me back! Besides, I know when to shut up,” he said. “Really, I do!” he said, when he noticed the glances Sombra and Hanzo were giving him.

“So,” Sombra began, “what are you two doing up here?”

Hanzo pointed at the sky. “Our mutual employer has tasked us with ensuring that the fusion plant in Dorado falls to the rebels. However, it has come through the grapevine that Oversight might be sending a team to secure it.”

“I thought Oversight only handled omnic-related problems,” Sombra replied.

“Ah, I might know something about that,” Genji began a little sheepishly. “I attacked some of their agents in Lijiang. They might want revenge,” he said, shrugging. 

“Another mission from our employer,” Hanzo explained- presumably he didn't know Sombra didn't know already. “In any case, we will not win a direct fight with Oversight agents.”

“All right,” Sombra said slowly. “You have a plan?”

“Indeed I do,” Hanzo said, smiling as he took out a silver arrow from his quiver, and seeing that, Genji started clapping his hands and making little jumps.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Hanzo! Hanzo! HANNNZOOOOAH!” he squealed. “Are you going to say it, _aniki_? You have to say it!”

“Say what?” Sombra asked, her eyes darting between the two brothers.

Hanzo laughed a little, smiling indulgently as his eyes scanned the sky. “This is no mere arrow,” he said, nocking it to his bow. “It is one of the most highly-advanced pieces of technology to come out of Japan. It was so dangerous, it would originally only activate if its user pronounced a code phrase as he cast it from his bow.”

“He doesn't have to say it any more,” Genji added, “but it's so cool when he does!”

He momentarily gave Sombra an amused look. “Genji is right- the code words are not necessary, but well, he is my brother,” he said. “And that up there,” he added, nodding at a small black speck in the sky, “is the Oversight craft.”

“Hanzo!” Genji said, bouncing on his feet. “Say it! Say it!”

Hanzo laughed, and motioned for Sombra to come closer as his bow rose in the air. Not that Sombra needed the encouragement; if she was about to watch a man shoot a plane out of the sky with a bow and arrow, she'd have wanted front row seats in any event. Now that she had a chance to look at the arrow up close, she could see that it seemed a little larger and thicker than a normal arrow would have been. “Now what?” she asked.

Hanzo grinned as his eyes narrowed. He pulled the bow back as far as it would go, and then-

“ _Ryu ga waga TEKI WO **KURAU!**_

__

__

Sombra hated to admit it, but Genji was right- it _was_ really cool. 

__

* * * * *

Amélie stretched as much as she could in the confines of her seat as she woke up. It wasn't an uninterrupted rest, with this being the third time Amélie had awoken. This time, however, it wasn't the discomfort of the seat waking her up, but a slight beeping in her helmet. She tapped her helmet's side, and the message opened. Like a cup of black coffee that had salt instead of sugar poured in, the message was a horrible way to wake up.

“Amélie? What's wrong?”

Amélie glanced across her, where Angela was reading something on her holopad, and she realized she must have cursed out loud. “It's nothing,” Amélie said, waving her off with an ease she didn't feel in the least. “Jack- Lieutenant Morrison asked me to write a report on the training session I had with him,” she said, to which Angela responded with angry sigh. 

“Of all the times,” the Swiss woman said, shaking her head. “Honestly, that man's obsession with doing things 'properly' is infuriating sometimes,” she added.

_If only you knew_ , Amélie thought, as she re-read Jack's instructions on exactly what the report should say to her. What really twisted her gut was the mention of both a 'reward', and a simple “remember Angela” at the end of the message. Was this Jack's idea of a carrot and a stick? Or was it some kind of sick joke? Either way, Amélie didn't quite think she had a way out, not just yet.

A third voice spoke up and interrupted Amélie's musings. “That's enough, both of you,” Ana said, massaging her neck. “I agree that Jack can be a little overbearing at times, but between Gabriel and Lieutenant McCree, he needs to be a little pro-active in enforcing the rules.” She took a deep breath while stretching. “Now, everyone get ready,” she said, looking at a holographic display on her seat. “We should be reaching Mexico City's airspace in a few minutes.”

She put two fingers to her lips, and let out a loud whistle that jerked the VTOL's other three occupants awake. “Ach, do you need to do that every time?” Torbjorn said, rubbing the sand from his eyes as all the squad's seats went back to their original upright positions. “I'm an old man, I need my sleep!”

“Ohoooo!” Reinhardt said, somehow _yawning_ with vim and vigour. “It seems that someone is a little cranky!” he added, to which Torbjorn responded with a wide scowl.

For her part, Satya awoke and stretched with a dancers' grace. “I must have been more tired than I thought,” she mused. “How close are we to Mexico City?” she asked.

“A few minutes,” Ana repeated, pressing a button on her seat. “Big Sky, do we have an ETA on Mexico City?”

The intercom crackled. “We're right over Mexico City, actually,” Big Sky replied. “I'm heading over to the landing site right- wait...”

“What's wrong, Big Sky?” Ana asked. Amélie's hands involuntarily tightened around her seat belt.

“I'm not sure,” Big Sky said. “Are those drag-”

The crashing scream of shearing metal shattered the air as the VTOL shook violently, the squad's safety harnesses all that prevented them from being tossed around the VTOL. Alarms blared, and the only thing that prevented Amélie from vomiting in nausea and terror was the fact that she couldn't eat. In front of her, she heard a scream cut short, and she looked up to see Angela holding tightly onto her safety harness. She wished she could take Angela's hand like the doctor had earlier, maybe even tell Angela what she had started to feel for her-

But the words would not come. Suddenly, Angela's eyes opened, meeting Amélie's own gaze. Maybe it was Amélie's imagination, but it seemed to her that Angela seemed to calm down a little. She did her best to give Angela a comforting smile; it wasn't much, but right then, it was the most she could do. Despite the circumstances however, Amélie felt her soul lift as the fear seemed to drain from Angela's expression, replaced by one of determination, though still tainted by fear-

_No matter what happens, I'm glad she's here with me._

Even under the circumstances, Amélie felt herself start. If there ever was a time where her own thoughts ever intruded on her perceptions, then this was it, and Amélie hated herself for it. This was no time for her to fantasize about Angela, damn it!

Ana's shouting suddenly drew both her and Angela's attention to the front of the VTOL. As her eyes swept across the other Oversight squad members, she couldn't help but take note of how they were coping, Satya with her eyes closed and hands clasped in a death grip on the edges of her seat-

_Not like this, not like this._

-Torbjorn staring ahead with the same grim determination Angela had, albeit tinged with resignation instead of fear-

_Should have seen this coming; just wish I could shoot whoever did this to us._

-and Reinhardt, sitting as still as he could, his eyes closed and a peaceful smile on his face.

_So this is how it ends- oh well, I've had a good run._

“Big Sky!” Ana yelled. “What happened?!”

“Severe damage to the engines! I'll explain after we land!” Big Sky said. Amélie could tell he was trying to keep a cool, calm tone, but the strain he was under was obvious. “Buckle in boys and girls, this is gonna be rough!” he said,and the lurching of the VTOL from side to side hammered home his point. 

For what seemed like a terrifying eternity, Amélie felt nothing but the violent shuddering of the VTOL, heard nothing but blaring alarms, the screech of metal being tested to its limits, and most terrifyingly of all, the wailing cracks of those limits being exceeded. She held onto her seat as tightly as she could, doing her best to brace herself for the imp-

The VTOL juddered again, more violently this time, but after that stomach-lurching second, the shuddering seemed to die down in violence, albeit slightly. There was a roaring coming from outside, with Amélie's suspicions of what they were confirmed when Big Sky spoke over the intercom again. “Say way-hey and hallelujah!” he yelled in triumph. “Retros are working! All right, boy and girls, time for the main event! In... three... two... hang o-”

With that final syllable, any reprieve Amélie might have had when the retro thrusters fired was wiped out as the VTOL slammed into the ground. She heard Big Sky roar, though whether in fury or triumph she couldn't even begin to tell, her concentration focused on staying conscious. Amazingly, she realized a small, detached part of her mind celebrated what was happening- after what she went through, surely nothing else would be able to frighten her ever.

But even that small part began shrieking in terror after what happened next.

A section of the transport hull sheared off, carrying Angela away to be lost in a cloud of dust and shrapnel. Amélie felt Angela's name rise through her throat, tears forming in her eyes, both from the dust in them and the sheer uselessness of her gesture, when she felt herself ripped from the VTOL as well. Shackled in her seat, she was thrown head over heels, only surviving by virtue of her reinforced seat landing on its back and rolling her horizontally, where a vertical roll would have snapped her neck.

Even so, Amélie's body was a threnody of pain when the motion finally stopped. The agony reached up into her mind as well, filling it with a pain-shrouded daze. She might have lay there for hours, waiting for either the pain, the ringing in her ears, or her breathing to stop, when the name that had caught in her throat rose to her lips.

“Angela...” she whispered.

With a quiet, pained groan, she unclasped her seat's harness. She reached to the side of her seat, and found to her surprise that her Huntsman rifle, barring the mass of scratches on its finish, seemed to be otherwise all right. Rolling to her side, Amélie gingerly pushed herself upright. Already, she could feel Angela's nanites at work, her aches and pains slowly fading away. Her staggered gait slowly turned into a steady stride as she focused on the direction she saw Angela's seat fly off.

As the dust and dirt cleared, she began to see where they had crash landed- and she was sure it was a successful landing, at least, as she could not hear any more sounds of tortured metal. They had landed in a small green belt outside of what seemed like a gated community. In the distance, Amélie could begin to see the seaside, the wind bringing in the scent of salt.

The sound of voices speaking drew her attention. In the clearing dust, she saw three men in heavy combat gear, complete with enclosed combat helmets walking up to Angela's seat, the medic still strapped into it. The joy that began to fill Amélie's heart turned to despair when she realized Angela was not moving. It was replaced by cold terror as she watched one of the men take out a pistol and slowly bring it to bear on Angela's head. 

The Huntsman's scope was at her eye, her finger pulling the trigger even as the rifle rose to her shoulders, the world blurring as everything slowed down.

The bullet smashed through an eye of the gas mask the soldier wore, the shower of blood, brain and bone from the back of his head a much darker shade of red than the rain of broken crimson glass from his mask.

The other two soldiers suddenly turned to glance at Amélie- no, one soldier, the second man jerking back as a bullet from the Huntsman smashed through his eye as well.

The third soldier had brought his own rifle to his shoulder when Amélie's bullet entered its chamber, the rifling within only accelerating her charged bullet as it hit his own, the explosion of gases inside the bullet chamber sending them both exploding out of the barrel. 

His scream sounded dull in Amélie's adrenaline-enhanced ears- not that it would have helped him in any case, as by the time the pain from his own ricocheting bullet tearing through his cheek reached his brain, so had Amélie's own.

His scream was the last reflexive order given by a now-dead brain, and it drowned out the soft clinking of the shell from Amélie's first shot hitting the ground.

And Amélie was not done yet. Even as she ran to Angela, she could see a few more men coming out of the dust cloud, rushing up to her, drawn by the gunfire and their comrade's scream. Amélie's pace did not slacken as she strode up to Angela's position. Two men died before Amélie's third casing hit soil, and another three fell before Amélie's fourth. Two more tried to run- Amélie, ever courteous, made sure they at least didn't have the time to die tired.

Only as the last man hit the ground did Amélie pick up her pace, running as she reloaded, the sound of her blood rushing filling her ears. Her throat hurt, though she didn't know why at the time. She knelt over the fallen medic's body, and frantically took the woman's wrist. When Amélie realized she couldn't feel a pulse, bile rose in her throat as the wave of terror inside her threatened to crest again. Desperately, Amélie ripped the mask off Angela's would-be assassin, ignoring the ruined mess of the man's face. She held the half with a still-intact eye lens over Angela's mouth, and every last trace of fatigue seemed to evaporate from her as she saw vapour form on the plastic. 

Suddenly, Amélie heard footsteps behind her. In one swift motion she turned, Huntsman rifle held up at the ready, only to be greeted by the sight of Reinhardt raising his hands and dropping his hammer in the process. Behind him were the rest of the team, including a limping Big Sky, who was being helped along by Ana. 

After a tense split-second, Amélie lowered her rifle with a relieved smile that quickly spread across her face. “They tried to kill her! But I killed them! Angela is safe! We are all okay! _Trés bien!_ ” she said giddily as the adrenaline receded, right before her knees gave way and darkness overtook her.


	8. The City of Fools' Gold, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it seems I'd made a grievous error in geography when I made Dorado a part of the Mexico City sprawl in the previous chapter. In it, I mentioned near the end that the seaside was not only visible, but that Amélie could smell the salt in the air. Now, as anyone who has actually been to Mexico City knows, the place is landlocked. Very landlocked. Indeed, I was told that Mexico City's nearest seaside area is Acapulco, around 4-5 hours by car, and while the Mexico City of the mid 21st Century is quite large, it is not quite yet an ecumenopolis out of the most grandiose science fiction. I have thus kludged together what I hope is a semi-adequate bodge job here. I have no excuse except for abject ignorance, sorry. Anyway, hopefully you enjoy the chapter, and thank you for your indulgence!

Angela's eyes opened slowly, and she blinked a few times, trying to get used to the darkness. Outside, moonlight shone through an open window, illuminating both the seaside cliffside beyond, and the a large and surprisingly well-furbished room. That said, as soft as her bed was, being laid to sleep in full Valkyrie gear didn't do her muscles any favours. At least now that she was fully awake their various healing functions could kick into full gear. 

When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Angela found herself holding back a gasp when she saw Amélie sleeping in a bed next to hers. The moonlight shone brighter on her, and even in the dim light Angela could see signs of bruising on the French woman. She looked around quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when she found the Caduceus staff right next to her bed. Gently activating it, she began gently healing the sleeping Amélie, her still fuzzy mind trying to figure out how she got th-

While she kept Caduceus staff kept healing Amélie, Angela's head darted left and right, looking for an exit as memories of the crash came back. She spotted a door next to her bed, light visible in the gap below, and she raised her staff- Amélie seemed healed in any case. Angela checked the rest of her equipment: her pistol was still holstered, but the satchel containing her more conventional equipment was gone. More importantly, it also contained the various supply syringes Angela thought Amélie would need. The thought that they probably shattered on impact, instead of having been taken by whoever owned the beds they lay in, was hardly any comfort. 

_As soon as we get back, Amélie,_ Angela thought, _I promise, I'll-_

Amélie groaned. “Angela?” she whispered, and Angela realized she was speaking out loud. Before she could say anything to Amélie, however, she saw the French woman's eyes bulge right before she leapt up from the bed and seized Angela. “Angela, you are all right?” she asked hoarsely, her eyes darting back and forth across Angela. “Are you hurt?”

Before her voice got louder, Angela quickly placed a finger on Amélie's mouth. “I'm all right, Amélie,” Angela said quietly as she looked around, grinning a little as her eyes caught sight of Amélie's Huntsman next to her bed. “Do you know where we are?” she asked, handing Amélie the rifle. 

Amélie raised an eyebrow. “I have just woken up, _cherie_ ,” she said, a little slowly. “Is this some kind of medical test?”

After a moment, Angela shook her head, having decided that the truth would be less embarrassing than saying 'yes' and having to answer any follow-up questions Amélie might have had. “I have just woken up myself,” she admitted. “I thought you'd know where we were.”

Amélie looked behind Angela, and hoisted the rifle. “It seems there is only one way to find out,” she said, lifting her rifle slightly. “Keep your weapon ready, but don't do anything hasty. Whoever put us here left us our weapons- they might be friends. Or,” she said, glancing at the door before turning back to Angela, “they might not see us as threats.” She looked again at the door. “I'll... what is the term? Ah, _oui_ , take point,” she added, but Angela shook her head.

“Unacceptable,” she said. “We go together. Don't argue with me, Amélie.” This time, it was her turn to glance at the door and then redirect her gaze to Amélie. “We come out, guns held high, but fingers off the trigger. Agreed?”

Though she was obviously a little taken aback, Amélie quickly recovered and nodded with the determination Angela herself felt. She moved to the door, and slowly turned the knob as Angela took the other side. The French woman nudged the door open slightly, then nodded again at Angela. In one swift motion they bumped the door open, their weapons held as Angela had planned.

The room before them was a dining room, fitted with expensive yet tasteful furniture and decorations. Sitting at a wooden dining table were Big Sky, Torbjorn, a well-dressed Hispanic couple Angela didn't recognize, and Reinhardt, who'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor. All of them were apparently in the middle of a meal, especially poor Reinhardt, who had gently put the burrito he'd been eating down on his plate, and was in the process of raising his arms when an irritated Torbjorn grabbed one of them and pulled it down again.

“...are we interrupting anything?” Angela asked, lowering her weapon in tandem with Amélie. “Wait,” she said, noticing the bandages on Big Sky, as well as to a lesser extent on the other two men. “Hold still,” she said, doctor's instincts taking over, as she pointed her Caduceus staff at the injured pilot first, before turning her attention to the Hispanic couple. “Ah... we are very sorry for this, _señor_ and _señora_...?” she said unsurely.

“S-Santiago,” the woman said, but her wide eyes were focused on the stream of healing energies from the Caduceus staff, and of the restored Big Sky peeling off his bandages to gingerly feel at his restored flesh and skin. “I'm Rafaela,” she continued, pushing back a strand of long hair behind her ear, “and this is my husband Felipe.”

“ _Señoras_ ,” the man said, inclining his head slightly. “Did you sleep well?”

Angela nodded slowly. “We did, thank you,” she said. “We didn't mean to impose- were we much trouble?” she asked, giving the men at the table a questioning look.

“No, not at all!” Rafaela said, when Torbjorn snorted.

“She's just being polite,” the Swede said. “Do you know how many patrols and squads we tried to avoid, then had to shoot past trying to find some place to shelter and regroup? Especially as we had only three, maybe three and a half actual effectives on hand?”

“Three and a half effectives?” Amélie asked as she and Angela moved to join the group. Angela took the opportunity to shift the Caduceus's stream to her other teammates.

Now Reinhardt nodded. “I carried you two,” he said. “And Satya helped carry Big Sky.”

“Where is she, by the way?” Angela asked. “And Lieutenant Amari?”

“They went off to scout the place,” Big Sky said. He pointed to a doorway through which the entertainment room was visible- and more importantly, Angela realized, sealed off from the outside world. For in it was Satya's teleporter, the oval of blue light rippling gently as it hung in the air above the base of the teleportation field generator. “Once they're done, we'll figure out what to do next.”

“All right...” Angela sighed, holding up a hand to her still somewhat-sleepy head, the Caduceus wobbling slightly as she did so. “It is quite obvious I and Amélie have missed quite a bit,” she said. “Can someone explain why and how we are both intruding in the home of this Mr. and Mrs. Santiago?” she asked, bowing slightly to their hosts.

The three male Oversight agents looked at each other with, Angela would later realize, relief. Right then, however, it was all she could do to keep order as the three men started talking over each other. Thankfully, she wasn't so sleepy she could not make out the more salient points of the story. That she and Amélie had been carried up to the Santiagos' house through a surprisingly small gauntlet of enemies was clear, but some other points weren't.

“Abandoned?” Angela asked at a lull in the conversation. “What do you mean the place seems abandoned?”

“Not by us, obviously,” Rafaela said. “But as far as we could tell,” Rafaela volunteered. “the soldiers who attacked you have left us very much alone here in the centre of the city. Apart from a single patrol after they arrived, they haven't done anything.” She nodded in the direction of the city's outside edges. "There, they are less fortunate."

Her husband nodded his assent. “When the riots in the slums first began, they came in in many trucks,” he said. “At first we thought they were here to either protect or maybe even loot from us!” he said.

“After all, you hear such stories,” Rafaela said. “But instead, most of them got off at the power station, and what few didn't began to gather near the outside of the town.”

Torbjorn burped then, and nudged his empty plate to the Santiagos. “Ah... _gracias_?” he said, his own Swedish accent mangling the Spanish word. “It's very nice,” he added, before turning to Angela and Amélie. “Like I said, we got into a few firefights as we carried you both up here,” he said. “To be honest, we weren't expecting to live this long,” he added grimly. “But after a few aborted attacks, they just broke off. We had more difficulty finding a place to shelter!” he said, before turning back to Rafaela and Felipe. “Again, thank you.”

Big Sky was the next to speak up. “They've been sending announcements over the PA all regular-like though, telling the people to stay inside their homes until the crisis is over, about how they really don't want to go out and break skulls, that sorta thing,” he said. “I think it's all a load of crap, but it seems to be working to keep people inside,” he said, pointing behind him.

Felipe shook his head. “You don't need guns to keep people inside,” he sighed. “Especially people around here. We're here because it's nice and peaceful,” he said. “No trouble ever comes here, and we have guards outside the gates and a lot of police protection. We stay inside even now because that is what we do every night. If we do any different, then it would truly mean something has gone wrong, and admitting that can be much more frightening than any gun.”

In the silence that followed, Felipe seemed to blush a little. “What can I say? I'm an engineer, we all are,” he said, indicating the houses outside. “We like knowing- or at least thinking- that things are all in their proper places.”

“Wait, engineers?” Angela asked. “I'm in the wrong profession, it seems,” she said with a small grin as she looked around the house. It was no palace, to be sure, but it was certainly better than she could have expected to earn outside of Oversight, or a specialist surgeon's office.

“No, you're not,” Torbjorn grumbled. “I'm just underpaid, it seems like.”

Rafaela laughed. “No, we just got lucky,” she said. “The fusion plant is one of Mexico's greatest accomplishments, and _Presidenté_ Portero is insistent that it be kept in 100% condition at all times, so all the staff, even most of its spare parts and supplies are kept close by, with the exception of the most dangerous materials.” She jabbed her thumb at one of the house's windows. “There are loudspeakers outside that announce changes in shifts and delivery requests, so nobody has an excuse to be late or miss a delivery.”

“Honestly,” Felipe said, “I think it's all just a show to make his _Partido de Libertad_ look good. But we have a house finer than anything we could ever afford in another job, the love of a good woman in my case,” he said, looking deeply into his wife's eyes, and Angela couldn't help but smile as she thought of-

- _Amélie_ -

-Gerard, while Felipe went on. “And not to mention good food and better tequila!” he laughed as the other men raised their water glasses in a cheer. “And if that means making Portero look good, so what? _Viva Portero!_ ” he laughed.

Suddenly, all eyes went to the Santiagos' main door as it creaked open. Satya was the first to enter, with Lieutenant Amari providing sniper cover. “We have determined that the soldiers might not be government military after all, and that while our short-ranged comms work, anything further than a few hundred metres will be jammed,” she said perfunctorily, much to the Santiagos' distress. “Some of the them seem to be preparing to move out, but at the same time, some guard posts are being shifted to cover the sole large road leading to the power station,” she added, walking up to the table, when she saw Angela and Amélie. “Lieutenant Amari, Specialist Guillard and Dr. Lacroix are awake,” she announced, before turning to the men. “Have you spoken to them yet?”

“Spoken to us about what?” Amélie asked as the various men all began to seem interested in the Santiagos' furnishings.

“We, ah...” Reinhardt mumbled. “We didn't have the time, sorry. I swear, I'm telling the truth! They have just woken up!”

Angela was about to ask what he meant herself, when an exasperated sigh cut her off. “In that case,” Lieutenant Amari said, shouldering her sniper rifle, “I'll just have to handle it myself.” She fixed her gaze on Angela and Amélie, brown eyes darting between them as she took a deep breath. “Angela, Amélie, how-”

This time it was Ana's turn to be cut off, when a sudden static whine from the loudspeakers threatened to deafen them all. It lowered in volume for a second, then rose again before falling once more. That was when Angela realized it wasn't mere static, it was an alarm. And from the looks of sheer terror on the Santiagos' faces, it was nothing good.

* * * * *

Hanzo stood watch over the green-lit halls of the fusion power station. Below him, soldiers clad in the same armour as those who tried to assassinate Angela kept working, Sombra among them and giving directions. The soldiers wore uniforms bearing the insignia that simply read GAFE- _Grupo Aeromóvil de Fuerzas Especiales_ , though Hanzo doubted whether any of his mercenaries could actually be found on the payroll of the Mexican spec-ops group.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned to the similarly-dressed man standing behind him. “I know what you want to ask me, Matías,” he said. “Your men are dead. Sending more after them wouldn't bring them back.”

“Listen here, _culo_ ,” the masked man said, jabbing his finger at Hanzo. “My friend, _mi compadre, mi amigo_ , was the sergeant in charge of the squad that checked out the landing site, and-”

The whisper of treated steel on reinforced leather drew the attention of everyone around then. No sooner than the mercenary leader's eyes had darted to the source of the sound, than they fell back to his finger, where Genji's blade had rested. The sword's sharpened edge had cut through the ballistic mesh of the leader's glove like wet paper, and a drop of blood trailed lazily down the edge. The cyborg ninja simply shook his head, his helmet retracted to show the gathered mercs an insolent grin.

“Genji, enough,” Hanzo said calmly. His brother complied, never taking his eyes off Matías as he slid his sword back into its scabbard. For his part, Hanzo spoke a little louder to get the merc leader's attention. “Matías, be realistic. If a squad of ten of your- I assume- best men could not take down an Oversight squad that had just crash-landed, what hope do you think you have against them now? Especially since they might have had enough time to rest and gather their strength?”

“So what will you have me do?” Matías asked hotly. “Just wait here and let the scum who killed my men run free?”

Hanzo shook his head, motioning for the mercs to follow him into a back room. “If you want revenge, it might actually be the best option. After all, one way or another, they will have to come here,” he said, looking through a glass window into a room where several engineers sat tied together. Some of them were praying, some stared ahead blankly and a few more looked at their watches with hate and terror. And why wouldn't they? After all, they were locked up in the same room as the rest of their co-workers, who were themselves... beyond the need to be restrained.

“I won't argue with that,” Matías said, looking at the carnage surrounding the surviving engineers with distaste. Hanzo felt a slight twinge of irritation- after all the deeds this mercenary commander was infamous for, he turns his nose up against a little necessary bloodshed? True, Genji could have restrained his enthusiasm, but after all his younger brother had done for the clan, how could Hanzo not let his brother indulge himself once in a while? “My men will grumble though- a boss who lets his men get killed won't be worth following.” 

Ah, now _this_ Hanzo understood.

“If they really want a response,” Hanzo said, “send out the fools and the young. Promise them whatever you need, you won't need to fulfil them as they will be dead. Shift your other lessers to guard posts, and have your best men take positions in here.”

Matías nodded. “Send out the cannon fodder, let them soak up bullets and time- yeah, I can do that,” he said, as his bodyguards chuckled cruelly. “How much are we getting paid again?”

This time it was Genji's turn to respond, holding out his cybernetic arm. A small, arm-length screen flipped out from it. “ _Sugoi, ne?_ ” he grinned, as few small lines appeared on the plastic display. “So many zeroes! I wouldn't want to share it either!” he laughed.

Hanzo saw Matías's eyes gleam with greed. “I won't argue with that either,” Matías replied as Genji closed the display. “All right, I guess I'll give the order,” he said.

“Feel free to blame me for it,” Hanzo said. “I doubt we'll see each other after tonight, anyway.”

The mercenary nodded grimly. “All the better,” he said. “Fine, I'll send the idiots away on your orders. Just do your part, all right?” Matías added. “Don't keep us waiting.”

“Don't worry,” Hanzo said, already placing a hand on his hot-headed brothers' shoulder- the katana was already an inch out of its scabbard. “The Oversight agents will have no choice but to take the path we have set up for them.” The mercenary leader nodded, and walked off, barking orders into his walkie-talkie. For his part, Hanzo turned and glared at his brother, who shrugged apologetically. Hanzo sighed, and reached for his communicator. “Sombra?” Hanzo said quietly. “Are you ready?”

“I've been ready for hours,” she snapped, her voice crackling with static. As much of a vanity project the power plant was, Hanzo did feel some irritation at how low-quality the comms were, so much so that their own jamming equipment interfered with it. “I don't know how much longer I can hold off on the city sending troops here.”

“I thought you had that handled?” Hanzo asked.

“I _did_ ,” Sombra said, hissing a little as she emphasized the past tense. “But voice modulation can only go so far. This place is Portero's baby, and he is _thiiis_ close to asking for hourly reports from the 'police chief'!” she said, and Hanzo could swear he heard the fingerquoting. “Right now I'm going off what I remember from my childhood, but I haven't seen the inside of a jail cell since! Somebody's going to find out- And when that happens, we're in, as the scholars would say, _caca_!”

Hanzo rolled his eyes- how Genji never used his sword on the woman, he'd never know. Maybe he found her attractive? That must have been it- she was a woman with a pulse after all. Once all this was done, perhaps he'd talk with Genji about his tastes- like having them, for starters. “Well, we don't have to wait any longer. Matías is sending his men out. It's time for you to perform your part of the plan.”

There was another sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Understood,” she said. “But let's get one thing straight, Hanzo,” she said. “You're cute, but the moment something goes wrong, it's _sayonara_ , understand?”

“Of course,” Hanzo said, smiling knowingly as Sombra triggered the alarms.

* * * * *

“-I am merely asking, do we really need all this?” Amélie asked.

“That's a Level 3 alert!” Satya replied through the comms. Amélie was a little surprised- she was expecting one of the Santiagos to answer. “The plant won't melt down, but is about to suffer catastrophic damage! We need both part and engineers to fix it!”

“All right, I understand!” Amélie said, dodging a bullet. “Just... just hurry up, _s'il vous plait_?” she asked, reloading her rifle.

As far as Amélie was concerned, she was perfectly in her rights to be worried. While the Santiagos were loading up a lorry with various pieces of equipment from their own stores, Amélie and the rest of the squad were busy holding off a massive assault. Making matters worse was the fact that the Oversight agents were technically trying to fight uphill; the Santiagos' home lay at the bottom end of a hillside road, overlooking a cliff near what Amélie realized was not the sea as she had thought before, but a massive, man-made lake.

Right now, all that amounted to three of the Oversight women taking turns to peek around the corner of the house in front of the Santiagos' home and fire at an archway-cum-walkway up the road, with Angela providing support, while Reinhardt helped load the Santiagos' lorry (where Big Sky had taken the wheel) and Torbjorn supervised. As enlightened as this particular gender role reversal was, Amélie felt that equality was the last thing on their attackers' minds. Of course, judging by how haphazardly they were attacking, she doubted there was much behind the gas masks and balaclavas at any rate. At the very least, her suspicions about them being Mexican Special Forces had been laid to rest.

Not that it made much of a difference to the terrified residents of the town. Windows and doors had been slammed shut just as soon as the gunfire started. She heard people yell the word “ _Policía!_ ” here and there, and some small, detached part of her feared the worst. As indiscriminate as their enemies were, she had little hope for the survival of the local officers, especially if they were as much a part of the political show as the town's apparent prosperity. 

As callous as the thought was was though, the survival of the Oversight agents had to come first, and that meant flanking their attackers. After all, while they lacked skill, they certainly had the numbers to make any frontal assault impossible. “Lieutenant Amari,” Amélie said, reloading her rifle. “Permission to try flank them?”

Ana spun herself back into cover, wincing as she clutched a bleeding arm. “I think it went right through the bone,” she groaned, wincing even while Angela healed her. “You want to try flank them, Guillard?” she asked, rubbing her arm as it knit back together. “Granted- but scout and report only, at least for now. No heroics, understand?”

Amélie saluted, and was about to head off when she heard Angela speak. “Be careful, Amélie,” she said, and as short as it was, Amélie felt her spirits lift when she heard it. With a wide grin, Amélie turned to her and saluted as well, though her smile went away a little when she saw the disapproving glare the Lieutenant gave her. 

No, not disapproving, Amélie realized, but sad.

I'm sorry, you poor girl.

Amélie wondered what that was all about, but immediately put it out of her mind. Instead, she sprinted to the window of the house they had been taking shelter behind, and smashed the wooden door open with the butt of her rifle. “Oversight agent _désolé_!” she yelled as she ran past a terrified family, who were hiding in the dining room past the house's entrance passage. She paused for a second, waited for another burst of gunfire, and then shot the locks off a barred window which she then dived out of.

Following the sound of gunfire, Amélie ran down an alleyway into a small square, barely larger than the ground floor of the Santiagos' home, in the middle of which was a solitary tree in a lonely green patch. More importantly than the municipal council's woeful lack of landscaping skill, however, was the fact that Amélie had found herself a path directly behind the attackers. A small stairway led up to the arch where they were standing in ragged rows- as tempting as it was to take potshots, Amélie had her orders. As she began her report back to the Lieutenant though, she saw something that chilled her blood. “Be advised,” she said, unable to keep the snarl out of her voice, “one of them is coming up with a rocket launcher. Permission to engage?”

After a burst of Arabic swearing, Lieutenant Amari gave back a tense “Granted- I'll try to send backup as quickly as I could,” but Amélie was already on the move halfway through the sentence. She grappled her way upwards, tossing down a Venom mine scant seconds before her feet touched the ground. She leapt to the side even as the green gas began dispensing; it was specially engineered to be unable to harm Amélie herself or her clothes, but it wreaked havoc on anyone else. That said, she was painfully aware that she was alone up on the arch, at least for a few moments- she had to make the surprise last.

The Huntsman spat lead as she flew through the air, Amélie's accuracy suffering only when she took one hand off her gun to help her do one last cartwheeling flip. She didn't know what to be more grateful for: the soldiers' inexperience, or her own skill, but either way as soon as she landed, she was greeted by the sight of several men falling out of a green cloud of Venom and off the arch onto the pavement below, as well as others lying unmoving from her Huntsman rifle. The sound of people shouting behind her made Amélie turn.

Below her was a well-lit roundabout in the road, along with what seemed to her like an entire platoon of mercenaries in what appeared to be a shopping area. Even as she swung her rifle around, she could see these men running to defensive positions with more purpose and skill than the people on the archway she had just taken down. She pulled the trigger- and nothing happened. She pulled again- once, twice, then realized that she had just emptied her magazine. She glanced downwards, and saw the men looking back up with bewildered looks. Then the moment of mutual incomprehension was gone, and Amélie leapt backwards when the men below sent a hailstorm of fire at her.

As she landed, Amélie heard the click of leather on stone as a few of the archway soldiers managed to run through the rapidly dispersing cloud of toxins. She desperately reloaded her rifle, but it was clear that she was racing the seconds as the attackers brought up their own guns to bear on Amélie. Once again, in what Amélie thought was a depressing rise, time began slowing down for her again-

A bolt of energy burned its way through one of the men, causing him to fall on the path with a scream, while another dropped from a sniper shot. Even as Amélie slammed a fresh magazine into her Huntsman, a torrent of superheated metal tore its way through the rest of her opponents. Looking down on the street, Amélie saw the overloaded lorry slowly moving up the road, Torbjorn's portable turret on top of it, and the diminutive engineer busy trying to improve it on the go. Escorting it were the rest of her squadmates- except for Angela, who had just descended in front of her. “Are you all right, Amélie?”

Amélie looked down at herself, and to her surprise saw that she was unharmed. “So it seems,” she said, giving Angela a cocky smile. Even in the dimly-lit night, Amélie could see Angela's blue eyes shine with relief, so much so that Amélie almost missed the smile that accompanied it. For a second, Amélie wondered if there was anything else she missed- 

“ _Merde!_ ” she gasped, breaking the spell between her and Angela. “Be advised,” she said, holding a hand to her earpiece as she broadcast to the whole squad. “Once the lorry turns the corner into the commercial district, it will be driving into an ambush!” She considered for a moment. “Also be advised, I might have ruined said ambush, so they might just open fire as soon as they catch sight of you.”

“Received and understood,” Lieutenant Amari replied firmly. A moment later, Reinhardt peeled off from their small convoy, charging for the roundabout. “Cover him,” she said, and Amélie nodded, turning to Angela.

“Keep him safe, Angela,” she said, checking her gun. She wouldn't be caught with an empty magazine again, that was for sure.

“What about you?” Angela asked.

Before she knew it, Amélie was stroking Angela's cheek. “Don't worry, I can take care of myself,” she said. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming from a covered staircase leading to the archway pathway. Annoyed, Amélie took another Venom mine from her belt and tossed it down the staircase, where cries of distress were quickly replaced by the sounds of coughing and bodies falling down stairs. “See?” she said, giving Angela a small smile.

Angela laughed a little- and then suddenly gave Amélie a quick hug. Judging by the look on her face as she pulled away, the act surprised her as much as it did Amélie. Even so, their duties called, and with mutual reassuring nods and small smiles, Angela and Amélie got back to work. Amélie felt a soft breeze on her exposed back as Angela flew down to Reinhardt, who reached the enemy lines just as soon as Amélie did. She wondered how the terrorists must have felt, seeing over eight feet and nearly 400 kilos of pseudo-medieval knight come charging down upon them, the golden wings of a living angel behind him.

Not that she gave them much time to get over their shock. With so much focus being given to Reinhardt and Angela, Amélie had entire seconds to herself. It wouldn't have been anywhere near enough for most soldiers, but it felt like whole days of target practice for Amélie. The battlefield unfolded before her, a slow-moving tableau of a target-rich environment. With each pull of the trigger, with each clink of a spent shell on the stone below her, a man fell. 

With that said, however, the pseudo-soldiers below her weren't fools, or at least not for very long. Despite the shock of Reinhardt's charge and Amélie's precision fire, they managed to rally, and the weight of their numbers began to quickly take its toll once more. Amélie ducked backwards as sporadic fire came at her, and it took a supreme effort of will to not fire at the people shooting at her, or only give them short bursts of suppressive fire when she had no other choice. When she did manage to fire, she made sure to target people aiming at Angela (who had, much to Amélie's distress, apparently become their priority target with worrying haste) first. Only then did she move onto other targets- much to her detriment when she saw a spread of micro-missiles heading for her, too quickly even for her to dodge all of them. 

Her efforts weren't completely wasted, though. She managed to bob and weave her way through the first wave of missiles, the smoky exhausts making her eyes water and her throat gag. However, her dodging meant that she missed the second wave of micro-missiles, and these weren't aimed at her, but at the edge of the arch she had been using as a perch. Amélie fell downwards as the wall beneath her disintegrated, and try as she might to fall as safely as possible, the sharp jolt of agony that shot up one of her legs told her that she had twisted an ankle on impact. 

Staggering as she got up, she saw a group of soldiers in front of her raise their submachine guns, then get no further when Reinhardt charged through them, sending all of them careening through the glass windows of a small, one-storey shop. A gust of wind next to Amélie brought her attention back again to Angela, who was once again flying to her with determined purpose. The Valkyrie suit's boots sent up a cloud of dust as she skid to a halt next to Amélie, Caduceus staff at the ready. “ _Vielen Danke_ ,” Amélie said, grinning. She didn't know how much of a mess she made of the German pronunciation, but judging by the short laugh Angela gave her, it was either quite passable or utterly terrible. Either way, it was worth it. 

“ _De rien_ ,” Angela said, with (in Amélie's opinion) much better French pronunciation that Amélie's German.

A torrent of angry Spanish came from a group of the remaining soldiers, and as a fully-healed Amélie got to her feet, she saw them raise their guns at her and Angela. Her grip tightened on her Huntsman, and she could hear Angela pull her own gun out of its holsters. They were both in the open and exposed, save for a few fallen stalls, and Amélie doubted their ability to protect them from high-calibre weapons fire. 

“Fighting without me?!” Reinhardt shouted from inside the shop he had crashed into. “Such cruel mistresses!” he laughed, standing up. The triumphant grins on Amélie and Angela's faces were matched only by the looks of terror on the soldiers' faces the two sides watched Reinhardt raise his hammer- and bring the store down over his head. 

For a few seconds, there was silence from the two groups, though the gunfire from the remaining soldiers as they fired at a target Amélie could not see was still deafening. Not that it mattered to her and Angela, though, nor did it matter to the other group of their assailants. In those moments of silence, Amélie met the eyes of an officer on the other side, evidently one of their leaders. Amélie could only hope the bewildered look on her face was not a mirror of the one on his- or if it was, she hoped that Angela did not see it, lest she remember. 

Then the moment passed, and the two sides brought their arms to bear on each other once again. Even so, it was hopeless, and the soldiers knew it, giving the two women cruel grins when they realized just how much strength their numbers had. Before Amélie could tell Angela to run, she gave the Swiss woman a glance out the corner of her eye. That brief moment of looking at Angela- her furrowed brow, her stance- told Amélie all she needed to know.

I'm not leaving.

“On my signal,” Amélie said quietly, “stay behind me,” Amélie said quietly, hoping that Angela could understand why.

Judging by how the Caduceus staff's hum grew louder, Angela did understand, much to Amélie's-

- _joy_ -

-relief. Angela would not have been able to do much with her pistol, but an overcharged Caduceus staff might be able to heal Amélie faster than the bullets could hurt her, though the chances were slim at the very best. At the very least, it might give Amélie the chance to take down enough of them for Angela to make her escape-

The shouting from the other group of soldiers was abruptly cut short by a hail of missile fire- from the road. What had once been the Santiagos' simple lorry was now a mobile armoured platform, with Torbjorn's newly fully-upgraded turret sending out billows of smoke and heated gases as it spat both bullets and missiles at the soldiers futilely trying to hold it back. Several smaller turrets of a far more elegant design dotted the front of the cab, tearing apart all opposition with glowing lasers. Seeing Big Sky lean out now and then to fire a few shots from his pistol almost seemed like overkill.

As magnificent a sight as it was though, Amélie still had her part of the job to do. “Angela, now!” she yelled, pulling the trigger on the Huntsman as the soldiers in front of her gawped at the fully armed and operational battle fortress making its way through the Dorado streets. To their credit, they recovered quickly, though not before a few of them went down. Some of them dived for cover, but a few did fire back while Amélie and Angela dived for cover themselves. Bullets tore through Amélie's suit, smashing bone and flesh, but Amélie barely had time to feel the pain before Angela's staff closed the wounds behind them.

Suddenly, a wall of light pushed its way diagonally between her and the soldiers shooting at her and Angela, but while their bullets smacked uselessly against the moving shield, Amélie noticed that her bullets went through just fine. With a savage grin, she switched her gun to assault mode and let loose. With a great cry of dismay, the soldiers retreated, and seeing their flank retreat, the soldiers attacking the lorry began to fall back as well. “Squad, hold position,” Lieutenant Amari said through the comms.

Amélie wanted to pursue, but the assault on the roundabout seemed to have left the rest of the Oversight squad spent, and Amélie knew her eagerness was only thanks to the Caduceus staff's effects. Speaking of which... “Angela, are you all right?” she asked, turning behind her, and gasping when she saw Angela spitting blood. There was a wound in her gut, and even though it closed shut as Amélie watched, it did little to assuage her fears.

“I'll be fine,” the blonde woman said with a smile, as she wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. Amélie wanted to tell her that _no, it was not fine_ , among other things, but she was cut off before she could say anything. 

“Angela!” Lieutenant Amari called out from her place behind Torbjorn's turret. “Go see to Reinhardt! He might be hurt!” she said, though the gravity of her words was lessened slightly when the German giant finally rose, pushing the rubble of the ruined store off his back. Angela still nodded though, and with a quick smile to Amélie, she flew over to Reinhardt. Amélie's gaze had barely begun to follow her when she heard the Lieutenant calling her as well.

“Lieutenant?” she asked, saluting other woman as she walked up. Now that she had a few moments to take a closer look, she didn't know whether to be impressed or slightly terrified of the monstrosity the lorry had become. It was haphazardly (at least in Amélie's eyes) covered in hastily-applied metal plating, thanks to Torbjorn. He was on top of the lorry next to Ana, hammering away at the turret, and Amélie could see that its rocket launchers were as bolted-on as the lorry's armour was. 

Even as Amélie walked up to the lorry, the turret's missile launchers fell off, with winces from both Torbjorn and Amélie. Satya was behind the lorry reloading her pistol, and she gave Amélie a respectful nod as the French woman walked up. Inside the cab, Big Sky reloaded his pistol, but he kept his eyes on the narrow slit through the narrow plating that Torbjorn had applied to the lorry's windscreen. “You asked for me, Lieutenant?” she asked.

And there it was again, that sad look Ana had given her before. However, the Egyptian woman was as professional as ever when she pointed in the direction of the street the soldiers ran down. “We've had it easy so far,” she said, and before she could stop herself, Amélie raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Thankfully, the Lieutenant didn't seem to take offence. “You don't believe me? Their numbers are overwhelming, yes, but I think we've done quite a bit to reduce that advantage,” she said. “But their tactics are evolving the further we proceed, and with the plant so close,” she said as she pointed to the top of the hill, where the power plant was visible, “we are going to have a very hard time if we simply push forward bluntly.”

“I'm... sorry?” Amélie asked. “Are you saying that their skills are... evolving? Like robots?”

Torbjorn laughed, and Ana herself snorted. The sound of a throat being cleared drew Amélie's attention to her side. “I don't really think that is what the Lieutenant meant,” Satya said. “Though I do admit, I'm not quite sure what she is driving for- forgive me, Lieutenant,” she said, giving her superior officer a slight but respectful bow.

Lieutenant Amari waved off the apology. “What I meant was that the first two groups we've broken through were cannon fodder, meant to weaken us however they could for the actual professionals to finish off.” Her smile disappeared, replaced by a grim look. “For all we know, their deaths might have even been welcome.”

“That's probably the case,” Torbjorn said. “These men were no certainly no special forces I've seen,” he said, and spat again. “Pfeh! Amateurs! They're dressed up mercenaries, I'd bet.”

Ana nodded. “Whoever they are,” she said, holding up a crude map. “They have had time and opportunity to fortify the governmental district up ahead,” she said. “And that is where their more skilled troops may be. Even once we get past them, we have to consider the fact that they might have their best soldiers in the plant itself. Remember, that plant is our top priority- we have to defend it, regardless of the cost. I don't care about what Commander Reyes said about hunting down the Lijiang attacker,” she said, shaking her head. “That plant supplies Mexico City and its outlying suburbs. A lone cyborg doesn't compare to what might happen if the plant is disabled.”

Once again, Amélie's attention was drawn away, this time by the thumping of heavy boots behind her. “Hear! Hear!” Reinhardt shouted, grinning widely. Behind him, Angela followed respectfully. “What would you have us do?”

“For now, nothing for most of you,” the Lieutenant said, jumping off the lorry. “I and Amélie will venture behind their lines in the government district, where we will identify and disrupt their defences. Once they are in disarray, the rest of you will move in and punch through.”

“Wait, just you and Amélie?” Angela asked. “Isn't that dangerous?”

The Lieutenant didn't answer at first, taking almost a full second to stare at the doctor before she nodded and replied. “Of course it's dangerous, Dr. Lacroix. We're soldiers- dangerous is our _job_. it is why I'm having Big Sky drive the lorry instead of one of the Santiagos. It is why we're pushing ahead with what I fully admit is a dangerous, foolhardy plan instead of calling and waiting for help from the government-”

“Not that we could anyway,” Torbjorn interrupted.

“Yes, thank you, Torbjorn,” Lieutenant Amari said curtly. “In any case, Dr. Lacroix, this part of the mission is something only I and Amélie can hopefully manage,” she said. “At the first sign of serious trouble, I will give the signal to begin the assault.”

“But-” Angela began, when Amélie walked up to her and placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder. 

“You worry too much doctor,” Amélie said, with a smile brimming with the confidence she barely felt. “We'll be fine, right, Lieutenant?” she said, turning back to Ana, who was giving the two of them an enigmatic look as Torbjorn began working on his turret with increased attention. “Lieutenant?”

Once again, there was a slight delay before the Lieutenant answered. “Yes,” she said at last. “We'll be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another short note here- I know that the modern Mexican Special Forces are actually the _Cuerpo de Fuerzas Especiales_ , not the GAFE. I just thought the GAFE acronym looked cooler.
> 
> Also, it seems that this will have to be a three-parter as opposed to the two I thought it'd take. Don't worry, I'll wrap Dorado up by next week, I promise!


	9. The City of Fools' Gold, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I wish I had a good excuse, but I doubt Divinity: Original Sin 2 and Stellaris: Cybernetic Dawn would serve to convince a jury. That said, trying to write the beginning and end of this chapter was giving me hell, and so necessitated a bucketload of rewrites (mostly because my mind was on D:OS2 and Stellaris, orz). In any case, mea culpa, and I'll do my damnedest to ensure it doesn't happen again. Thanks for reading!

'Ignorance is bliss', or so the old saying went, and Sombra was anything but ignorant right now.

Her hands clenched, she hissed loudly as she took in the stream of information on the screens in front of her. Of course, she didn't understand the vast majority of it at first, but her implants' automated search programs scoured both the Internet and the government networks she managed to hack, turning what seemed to be a meaningless jumble of numbers and terms into something far more comprehensible. And while she usually liked being the most-informed person in the room, sometimes it was possible to have too much of a good thing. In such cases, perhaps it was time to share.

The more she considered it, the better an idea it seemed. After all, what was currently unfolding was A) not her idea in the first place, she was just the hired help, and B) probably better-handled by people with power. Like, say, the power that came from swords that could cut through tank armour, and bows that apparently shot dragons. It wasn't as if she didn't have the escape routes memorized anyway, after all.

“Hanzo,” she whispered into her comms. There were a couple of guards outside the control room, but their 'guard duty' was merely busywork, one of the excuses Matías made to his men keep as many of his experienced troops in the plant as possible. Even so, she didn't want them listening in- the mercenary leader and his cronies made a few too many personal remarks about Sombra for her liking, and she didn't want to give him or his men any more attention than she had to. “We have a problem.”

There was a brief burst of Japanese cursing. “Explain.”

“Some of the automated measures that activated when the alarm triggered are actually _causing_ damage to the plant,” Sombra said, glancing over to confirm that she hadn't been overheard. “I'm trying to reverse as many of them as I can, but whoever designed this plant is either a complete _imbécil_ or an engineering genius.” She looked at the readouts again, half-marvelling, half-cursing, and all-but-breathing-fire at how things seemed to be going down. Systems triggered mechanical responses which in turn began triggering more system changes, except _those_ systems changes were off the plant's main grid...

“Typical government work”, Sombra mused to herself. “So stupid it loops around into genius...”

“I don't want to know how it happened,” Hanzo said, startling Sombra out of her reverie. “Can you fix it?”

Sombra took a third look at her guards. “I can't, not by myself,” she said, sure they weren't paying attention. “Get Genji- make him watch the engineers we do have while they fix everything,” she said. “Hanzo? Hanzo, you there?”

“I'm here,” Hanzo said at last. “I actually think I've got a better plan. Right now, do what you can to keep the plant running.”

“And then what?” Sombra asked. “Hanzo? Hanzo? Answer me!” she snarled. The sound of boots shifting on metal told her that she had drawn the guards' attention. Scowling, she waved them off, and they sniggered, either unaware or uncaring of the fact that Sombra could hear them whispering about her 'man troubles'. 

At that moment, she wondered if she should bring the whole matter to Matías's attention, but decided against it. Right now, he and his boys were still under the impression that the blaring alarms were simply part of the show Sombra had put on for the Oversight agents, and Sombra saw no reason to pull back the curtain for them. The way she saw it, the more 'secure' they thought they were, the more time she would have to bug out without them noticing. 

She got up to re-check her escape routes, ignoring the leers and stares she got from the various mercs as she did so. Might as well let them have some eye candy, she decided graciously. Though it was quiet outside, nobody in the plant was under the impression that Oversight would leave them alone for long. With that said though, there was a definite air of anticipation- after all, the agents had no choice but to rush the plant to 'fix' whatever had caused the alarms. And once they did, they'd walk right into the jaws of the mercenaries.

Sombra liked their optimism, but she liked their naiveté a lot more.

* * * * *

Angela sat on the lorry's engine, compulsive rechecking the Caduceus Staff. If she was being perfectly honest, she didn't have much to check- most of the device's internal machinery were more Torbjorn's area of expertise than hers. When it came to the staff's diagnostic programs, chemical substitutes and even nanofactories' programmed recipes though, those were things she damned well knew she could handle. However, try as she might to run down her mental checklist, her gaze kept going upwards, where the Government District was-

“Is something wrong, Dr. Lacroix?”

Angela started, turning to the side to see Specialist Vaswani looking up at her. “It's nothing,” Angela said with a sheepish grin. In the distance, Reinhardt was providing what muscle Torbjorn needed to disable the blaring alarms, or at least those near them. Angela didn't mind in the least, the noise was driving her mad. That said, the quiet didn't do much to allay her fears.

For his part, Big Sky was behind the lorry, helping coordinate a safe evacuation for the few citizens of Dorado who had been out at the time; most were teenagers trying to prove their courage by breaking the soldiers' curfew (and getting far more than they bargained for when the gunfire started). There were a few reporters out to make a name for themselves, and quite a few men and women out on clandestine rendezvouses. By some miracle, none of them required more than cursory medical help, leaving Angela to sit and prepare on the lorry.

In any case, Satya nodded slightly upon hearing Angela's response. Suddenly, she walked around to the other side of the lorry's hood, and clambered onboard to sit next to Angela. Angela moved aside to make way for the Indian woman, then let her gaze fall back on the hill ahead of them, where Amélie and the Lieutenant were. There, the alarms still sounded, and she wondered how they were able to communicate with the sirens constantly blaring. And then there was the fact that for all their volume, the alarms' shrieking didn't seem loud enough to hide gunfire. 

“How close are you to Amélie?” Satya asked.

“I wish I knew,” Angela replied. Then her brain actually deciphered what Satya asked, and Angela nearly fell off the lorry's hood in surprise. “Wait, I beg your pardon?!” she asked, doing her best to keep the heat from suffusing her skin, failing miserably, and knowing it.

Satya actually turned to face her now, and despite the darkness, Angela thought she saw a ghost of a smile dance across Specialist Vaswani's lips. “It's a simple question, Dr. Lacroix,” she replied. “Though I think I have my answer.”

“It's-” _It's not what you think_ , Angela wanted to say, but she realized that it was a little too late already. Besides, she didn't need Amélie's emphatic abilities to see that Vaswani had her answer. So instead, she settled for a long sigh, slumping her shoulders, and asking quietly, “How did you know?”

“We had our suspicions,” Satya replied.

“Wait, 'we'?” Angela asked, feeling her heart sink deeper into her gut.

Satya nodded. “The crash left us all separated,” she began. “We managed to find each other quickly, but you two seemed lost. Then we heard Amélie whispering your name through the comms. We tried to raise both of you, but you were out cold, and she wasn't responding. Just saying your name again and again.” She gave Angela a glance out the side of her eyes. “We had Torbjorn take a look at the communicators, by the way- they were functioning perfectly,” she said, and Angela felt her blood run hotter.

It wouldn't have been quite so bad if Satya hadn't decided to let herself smile right then, more so that it was an understanding smile instead of a mischievous one. “We finally found you two when she started screaming your name,” she said. “It was quite impressive, really,” she added. “We found you still unconscious, and Amélie having single-handedly killed ten men who apparently were trying to assassinate you,” she said. “Then she fell unconscious- perhaps it was the adrenaline,” Satya said. She considered for a moment. “Did I miss anything...? No, I think that was it,” she said finally.

Angela rubbed her forehead- but she still couldn't help her gaze wandering back to the Government District. “So... everyone knows then.”

“We certainly suspected. Lieutenant Amari seemed the most distressed,” Satya replied. “The rest of the squad was supposed to speak to you about that if you woke up before we got back,” she said, giving a withering glance to Reinhardt and Torbjorn, and presumably including Big Sky in that equation as well. “The Lieutenant wanted to know if it would be an issue in combat.”

There was a second of silence as Angela collected her thoughts. “I would like to believe I'm professional enough for that,” she said. “And I am sure that Amélie is too,” she added, before turning to Satya. “Is... is that really all Lieutenant Amari wanted to know?”

Satya nodded. “That is what she told me. The more personal aspects of your relationship are matters that you, Amélie and Gerard should settle between yourselves.”

“There is no relationship, Satya,” Angela said, with a firmness that she didn't feel. “We are close, I can't deny that,” she said. “Perhaps closer than we should be, considering...” She trailed off for a second before shaking her head to clear it. “In any case, it will not affect our work, I think.”

Satya spent a moment to catch Angela's gaze before replying. “If you say so, Dr. Lacroix,” she said. 

At first, Angela thought of getting off the lorry's hood and finding some place else to go. The middle of the Earth, for starters. Then she reminded herself that _I am a field medic for an Oversight combat squad, not a teenage girl!_ , which meant that she kept feeling as self-conscious and embarrassed as one while she sat there with Satya, who had the discourtesy to look quite all right with things as they were. When the call from Lieutenant Amari finally came in, Angela actually felt relief, which was washed away as soon as she heard what her superior officer had to say.

“This is Lieutenant Amari to all Oversight squad members! The enemy has redeployed! Our positions are compromised! Begin frontal assault!” she yelled, before a burst of gunfire cut her off momentarily. “The cyborg is here! I repeat, the cyborg target is present!”

“Understood,” Angela said into her comms as she leaped off the hood, all embarrassing thoughts pushed out of her mind while the squad reassembled. Loud, thumping footsteps were heard as Reinhardt approached, hammer held high. He nodded silently, and Angela responded in kind. With the sound of Big Sky reigniting the lorry's engine behind them, Angela and Reinhardt began a brisk advance up the hill.

She couldn't say what her teammates were thinking, but Angela was tense the whole way up to the Government District, wondering if she and Reinhardt would walk into an ambush or the like. To her surprise, despite the sounds of battle growing steadily louder as the rest of the squad ascended, they didn't run into any trouble. Only the occasional isolated corpses, some in groups of no more than three, told them of Amélie and Ana's own advance.

Once they reached the District proper, however, the reason for the lack of resistance was obvious. In the distance, the team saw that the majority of their enemies had concentrated themselves around the power plant's entrance. They were providing cover fire for their own teams at City Hall right next to the power plant, their gunfire tearing away at the statue of President Portero in the front. Bullets and rockets were also tearing away at the records building in front of City Hall. For a moment, the street lights flickered off. When they came back on, the alarms had shut off. Angela couldn't tell if that was a good sign or not, her small relief at the alarms turning off replaced by anxiety over what it meant for the power plant.

And now, as the squad neared the scene, some of that fire came at the approaching squad members. Reinhardt erected his shield just time time to absorb a barrage of rockets that left it flickering. Satya leapt next to Reinhardt and sent out an autonomous drone that provided a shield of its own, giving Reinhardt time to redeploy and refocus his shield. Angela healed Satya of the few shrapnel wounds she suffered getting next to Reinhardt, while gunfire and laser bolts flew over her head thanks to both Torbjorn and Satya's turrets blasting away from their positions on the lorry.

Even as all this was going on however, Angela could not help glancing here and there, wondering where Amélie was in all the chaos. Satya's words, the Lieutenant's suspicions, rose to the forefront of her mind again, and Angela did her best to push them back down. Right now, she had a job to do, as difficult as it was to concentrate-

“Do not approach the records building!” Amélie suddenly yelled over the comms as the lorry turned a corner. She sounded absolutely exhausted, and Angela didn't need her medical knowledge to know why. “They have squads ready to ambush you! I say again, do not approach the records building!”

Angela held a hand to her earpiece. “Amélie? Where are you?” she asked, doing her best to concentrate on Amélie's words while healing both Reinhardt and Satya. Despite the shields the two agents constantly put up, sheer attrition meant that the sheer hail of ordnance in front of them was taking its toll.

“Angela?” she heard Amélie reply, and it was all Angela could do not to smile widely at the hope in her tones. “I'm on top of the records building,” she said, her spirits audibly lifting with every word. Angela looked up briefly, and she could see tracer shots that she recognized as coming from the Huntsman's assault fire mode. “Just hold as long as you can,” she said, and Angela could practically _hear_ the cocky smile Amélie was giving. “I'll be down shortly,” she said confidently.

“Are you all right?” The words tumbled out of Angela's mouth before she could stop herself. Thankfully, the glare from the Staff as she healed Satya blocked out any disapproving looks the Indian woman would have given her.

“I'm... fine,” Amélie replied, and some of the strain she had in her voice before resurfaced. “But you wound me, Angela! These insects are no match for the Widowmaker-”

There was the sound of crunching stone near Amélie, audible even from the street. “ _Konbanwa, nee-chan!_ ” an unwelcome, familiar voice said. There was the sound of the Huntsman's thumping gunfire, but Genji hardly seemed fazed as he continued. “I'm wounding you too!” Angela heard Genji say, right before Amélie screamed, followed by her strained gurgling.

The next thing Angela knew, she was flying to the top of the records building, barely hearing Reinhardt and Satya yelling her name, or the hissing of bullets and rockets slicing through the air around her. As she flew to the top, her eyes focused first on the cyborg standing in front of Amélie, his cybernetic mask pulled back to reveal a manic grin. Then her eyes darted to Amélie proper, lying on the ground and clutching her bleeding stomach, the Huntsman lying next to her. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, there was a flash of silver-

Angela only knew what happened in the next few seconds from her teammates' accounts- she didn't remember them herself. Her wings flared into incandescent brightness, and Genji screamed in pain, his hands held to his eyes. His screams only grew louder as Angela unloaded her pistol into him in a seemingly endless stream of energy pulses. Later, Amélie would tell Angela that energy seemed to flow from her, or at least from her suit, into the pistol itself.

Angela of course, wasn't consciously aware of this. She remembered the flashing of her pistol, a teary-eyed glare from Genji, and holding a healed but still weak Amélie in her arms. “I will watch over you,” she said softly- although since this was Amélie telling her this, Angela thought that her recollection was perhaps a little biased. Angela certainly thought she'd have noticed running through the rest of the building, pistol blazing. And while she thought Reinhardt was a generally honest man, she would not have believed his account of what happened next if Satya hadn't corroborated his statement.

Yet it was made plain to her- when Angela emerged from the records building, the surviving soldiers that had occupied it scattered as she strode forth from the structure, her wings blazing. The terrified soldiers would be rounded up later, both by enraged townsfolk and Mexican army regulars, broken and strangely reverent. Later, Reinhardt would think of the phrase they used in their own interrogations: 'angel of retribution'. He thought it'd make a good addition to his report at first, but after a bit of thought, he decided to delete it. Instead, he decided to use the word that came to his mind, whispered on his lips, when he first saw Angela in all her resplendent glory.

“ _Walküre..._ ”

* * * * *

Though her strength was returning to her by the moment, Amélie still staggered a little when she walked over to the balcony overlooking the lorry's path. She saw Angela, all light and fury, cast soldiers forth from the records building. Part of her wanted to turn away, to look for Genji- after Angela blasted away most of his plating, the ninja flipped around and down out of her sight, presumably to the pathway connecting the records building to a small commercial block. Yet she couldn't tear her eyes away from the angel walking below her.

“Guillard, status report,” Lieutenant Amari said over the comms, breaking the spell.

“I'm all right,” Amélie said, running for the pathway Genji had run down. “Angela helped me. I have lost sight of Genji- should I pursue?” she asked, kneeling and peering over the ledge. A judiciously tossed Venom mine, and the reinforcements coming across the pathway decided to rethink their plans to retake the records building.

“No,” the Lieutenant replied, to Amélie's relief. “The power plant comes first.” A gunshot from City Hall managed to take down two soldiers at once as they tried to cross the pathway to the records building. “I'll cover you,” she added. “I don't have good LoS to the front of the plant, you do.”

“Understood,” Amélie said, tossing down another mine for good measure before she turned her attention to the empty area she'd been directed to cover. 'Empty' being a bit of a misnomer, of course- it was currently heavily fortified by the enemy. Sandbag walls and heavy weapon emplacements dotted the area. Most of them were hastily erected; though Amélie and Ana early disruption attempts were successful, the enemy instead redeployed to fortified positions instead of breaking up as the Lieutenant had planned. Those positions had managed to drive the two snipers back, and Amélie still had her doubts about whether the rest of her teammates would be able to break their foes' lines.

Those doubts dissolved quickly however, though not as quickly as the enemy defences when Reinhardt came charging through ranks of fortifications and men like a massive German meteor. Right behind him was Angela, and while her wings didn't seem to blaze as brightly as they had scant seconds before, they were still a shining beacon in the dark. More impressively, the beam had actually split- the other beam had coiled around Satya, who seemed to be fighting with more vigour than Amélie had ever seen the usually calm woman muster. And Reinhardt's usually exuberant battle cries were even more pronounced, his laughter heartier, his roars echoing further.

The chaos of the enemy lines was only made worse when a swarm of missiles from Torbjorn's overclocked turret fell among their shattered ranks. In the midst of all the spectacle, Amélie almost forgot to fire, but she found her bearings quickly enough. Her trusty Huntsman back on her shoulder, she took aim, when she saw Genji emerge from the bank next to the plant, blade held high- and run straight to Angela.

_KILL YOU_  
_KILL YOU_ __  
_KILL YOU_ _  
_

____

____

_How unimaginative_ , she thought. Amélie wasn't aware of how contemptuous her sneer was, or that she even had one when she saw the enraged Genji rush forward. She was more than aware of the charged shot she sent towards him, though. The bullet sliced through the air at hypersonic speeds, its tip glowing red with the heat of air friction- only to be knocked from the air by Genji's blade. The cyborg didn't even have the decency to look cocky- if anything, the way he did it it seemed like the bullet deflection was a mere reflex action. It wasn't the first time Amélie had her shots deflected, but she cursed all the same.

However, it seemed that Reinhardt managed to pick up on her frustration. As the shot pinged off Genji's flashing blade, it drew Reinhardt's attention. With speed that belied his size, the Teutonic titan brought his hammer down. This time, Amélie saw Genji's all-too familiar insolent grin begin to spread across his face as the ninja leapt back, the hammer coming down more than a foot away from the cyborg.

Then the ground shattered beneath Reinhardt's rocket hammer. How Genji reacted to this, Amélie didn't see, as the ninja got a slab of concrete to the face for his troubles. The shockwave didn't stop with him, in fact- it shattered forth in a cone, bringing down the bank next to the plant, and burying more soldiers under tons of masonry. It took a moment for Amélie to realize the quiet, impressed swearing she was hearing was her own.

Faced with so much collapse in so short a time, the soldiers broke again. Despite the destruction, a few squads seemed to still want to hold the line, but once Amélie took down their commanding officers with her own well-placed shots, once bullets and rockets splashed against Satya's mobile forcefields, even the most stubborn holdouts turned tail and ran.

“Squad, advance!” Amélie heard Lieutenant Amari say, and with one cast of her hook, she found herself back on solid ground next to the lorry. She returned the thumbs up that Big Sky gave her, but her eyes quickly began to scan the assembled agents, looking for Angela. Seeing Dr. Lacroix salute Lieutenant Amari, Amélie made her way to Angela, but was topped by a surprisingly tired-looking Reinhardt.

“Yes, Reinhardt?” she asked, pushing down the mild irritation she felt at the interruption.

“You're going to speak to Angela, right?” the old man wheezed, his voice barely audible over the lorry's engines as it rumbled past them.

“Only for a moment,” Amélie said, her concern colouring her tones. “What's wrong, Reinhardt? You sound.. tired,” she said as diplomatically as possible. But as the words left her mouth, she knew she had made a mistake- not much of one, to be sure, but her impression of Reinhardt _was_ inaccurate.

_THAT WAS FUN!_

_Come on, Reinhardt, get up- you can certainly do this!_

_I wonder if she can do it again?_

And Reinhardt's next words only confirmed her reading of him. “When she did... whatever she did, I felt more alive than I have in decades,” he said, grinning widely. “I never knew she could do anything like that! I wonder if Torbjorn adjusted her suit, perhaps?”

There were footsteps behind Amélie, and she turned to see an equally-exhausted, but also equally-beatific Satya. Amélie couldn't stop an eyebrow rising- the dreamy look didn't really suit Satya. “I would like an answer to that as well, or at least if any more is forthcoming,” she said to Amélie, grinning crookedly all the while. “I can certainly see why you enjoy Dr. Lacroix's company.”

Before a stunned Amélie could respond, Lieutenant Amari's voice was back in the squad's ears. “Everyone, get ready! We're about to breach!” the officer said, pointing at the door. “Torbjorn, ready your turret's last missile load! Reinhardt, I need you to charge the door right after the missiles hit. If this plant has nano-repair systems, I don't want to give them a chance to close the breach until we're through. Satya, be ready with shield cover. Angela, back to your position,” she said with more sternness than Amélie thought was necessary at the time. “Amélie, you cover Torbjorn while I cover the breaching team,” she said.

Receiving her orders, Amélie saluted and hooked herself on top of the lorry. She saw Angela below her, looking a little woozy, but straightening up quickly. Amélie felt a little relieved then- it seemed that whatever she did to supercharge her suit, it didn't cause any permanent damage. “Angela!” she called out. “ _Tu vas bien?_ ”

“I'm... I'm all right,” Angela said, but she gave the lie to her own words when the wide smile she gave Amélie quickly faded into an uncertain one. Before she could ask Angela what the matter was, Amelie felt Torbjorn's hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him- the Swede had a grim look on his face, but his eyes darted to Angela for a fraction of a second before turning back to Amélie.

“Get ready, Amélie,” he said, but despite the professionalism in his voice and expression, Amélie could see the tension behind it. Then there it was, a small shake of the head, before he turned his attention to the doors ahead of him. “All right, all of you down there! Here we go!” he said, and Amélie barely had time to bring her hand to her eyes before the sun rose again for the second time that night. As soon as the shockwave from the rockets cleared, the ground and air shook once more as Reinhardt charged the weakened steel doors with a mighty battle cry. 

But after the initial roaring clang, the German giant stumbled back through after the impact, the slightly scuffed doors as sturdy as ever- only to fall down completely a moment later. “Aha! _Ausgezeichnet!_ ” Reinhardt laughed breezily, as if the missiles and bullets spending themselves on his quickly-erected shield were nothing but a light drizzle. “Come then, my friends! _Zu Krieg und Sieg!_ ” he laughed again, and Amélie could swear that the old man skipped into the first defensive position in front of him.

That said, he was still a man with a melee weapon in the middle of a horde of gun-wielding soldiers, and as far as Amélie could see, that wasn't very fair of them. Her Huntsman had barely changed into its assault configuration before she pulled the trigger, sending burst after burst of accurate fire into the ranks of the soldiers lining the balconies and offices lining the walls. Even so, she was painfully aware that she was standing in an exposed position on top of a lorry. Adrenaline flooded her body, her hyper-perception and increased empathy helping her see who was about to shoot at her, where the shots were coming from, but she could see that these soldiers weren't the unfocused hordes of before. These men knew their priorities, and Amélie didn't need to hear or understand their Spanish to realize that they were focusing on her-

A small sphere landed at Amélie's feet, expanding into a sphere of blue light that briefly honeycombed Amélie's skin. Unlike the last time this happened in Lijiang, this time she didn't feel any impact from the projectiles on her skin. “Make the best of it!” Satya yelled, reassembling the turrets on the lorry. “It won't last very long!”

Amélie was about to reply in the affirmative, when she noticed the soldiers shifting targets when they realized that their fire wasn't affecting those on the lorry. Amélie followed their gazes-

-and with a surprised Satya yelling after her in her wake, grappled onto a raised platform in the middle of the main chamber. True, she only realized what she was doing in mid-air, and that she was in a completely exposed position once her boots hit the metal floor, but even once she had time to think about it later, Amélie thought her manoeuvre, reckless as it was, was well worth it. After all, it meant that they weren't targeting the unshielded Angela any more.

It also meant that she was about to be taxed to her limits. Even as she threw a Venom mine into a squad of troopers, even as she felt bullets and missiles fly past her, she could feel the burning in her overworked lungs, her head pounding with the pressure of deoxygenated blood pushed beyond its capabilities. She was beginning to slow, and she knew it- it seemed for every two shots that screamed past her through thin air, one managed to graze her. Her senses began to overload-

_A soldier to the right gestured his comrades behind a pillar_

_ Hold the advance, flank her instead! _

_A flickering in the air, briefly revealing a woman clad in purple giving Amélie a terrified look right before she darts behind a pillar_

_ You saw nothing, **nothing!** _

_A soldier shouting orders to someone behind him before he points to Amélie_

_ Fireteam advance while we cover you! _

_A bearded, bare-chested man, resembling Genji, walking forward, bow and arrow in hand_

_ This ends NOW. _

He raised his bow to his eyes, yelling something in Spanish. Someone near Amélie laughs, and the soldiers' fire shifts once more to the other agents. Amélie wants to turn, to draw their fire to her despite the cost, but her instincts tell her to not take her eyes off the man in front of her. She raises her rifle in the nick of time.

His arrow flew straight and true, faster than it should, but her aim was just as good, and her bullet's even faster- but it doesn't help. As the bullet hit the arrow dead centre, the arrow split, blossoming into multiple bolts of blue light. Right then Amélie's eyes widened, found herself in the next instant trying to dodge them as she did the more conventional fire of his minions. Again, her muscles protested and her lungs run ragged, but she managed to duck and weave her way through the fire.

Or at least, that was how it seemed. As she flipped over the last bolt, she saw the ones she had dodged previously reflect off the walls behind her. She willed her body to move out of the way, to do anything to save itself, but her muscles spasmed, and her breath ran out. 

There was the sensation of a rough jab in her shoulder as the bolt passed through, but no pain. Amélie could feel pain, this she well knew, her encounter with Genji showing her that. But compared to his mad slashes, this was surprisingly gentle. Perhaps her brain was wired differently somehow, to block out strong pain. Or maybe it was just natural shock, deadening her nerves.

In any case, it didn't hurt. Not when another bolt pierced her gut, not when a third severed her spine. She felt nothing as a bolt tore itself through her chest. But she did feel a terrible sadness overtake her along with the coming darkness when she saw Angela fly up in front of her, though her vision was too dark, too blurry to make out Angela's expression. Then came the terror when she saw the red staining Angela's white armour. She wanted to tell Angela to turn back, to reinforce Reinhardt and the rest of the squad, but her body refused to respond.

Then she saw the light.

* * * * *

The stupid, _stupid_ light!

It took every single ounce of willpower Sombra had not to shoot the light on the panel next to the massive bulkhead doors. It was a small affair, but so was a needle under one's fingernail. Sombra knew what it meant, of course- there was a malfunction on the other side of the doors, and someone on that side would need to take a look at it. Normally, this would have been a nuisance at best- if someone wasn't able to open the door on the side Sombra was on, they could just take a long trek outside and around.

Of course, between the squad of elite Oversight agents in the power room right in front of the main exit, and the horde of terrified, screaming mercenaries barrelling down various corridors and pathways towards her (incidentally blocking the rest of her planned exits in the process), Sombra found herself a little put off by the prospect of a long walk. Extending her cybernetic hand towards the panel, she did her best to hack it- ironically, its simplicity made it difficult to hack.

Yet hack it she did, and with a whoop of joy, she instructed the door to close after few seconds of opening- enough time for her to make her escape to the helicopter platform outside, but not enough time for anyone behind her to get in the way of her boarding. She'd dealt with The Crush™ enough times taking Mexico City's overcrowded metros, she didn't need that interfering with her escape. Also, while she refused to admit it even to herself, some of the radio chatter she'd been picking up from the mercenaries was... disturbing. Some were talking about a _bruja_ capable of bringing people back from the dead, while others (some of whom were evidently crying) were reciting Catholic prayers. Sombra didn't know what to make of that, but it confirmed her opinion that it was time to leave, and that was all Sombra really needed.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to face the helipad- a sigh that caught in her throat when her eyes adjusted to the glare of the lights around the helipad, and she saw the mercenaries who had gathered around the 'copter. “Oho! My friends, look who's decided to join the party!” Matías said in Spanish, his mercenaries laughing at his 'joke'. “Too bad though, you're not invited,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

Sombra fought to keep the hiss that was rising in her throat from escaping her lips. She was going to get onboard that helicopter, whatever it took. “”Aw, don't be like that,” she said with a sweet smile, doing her best to stand seductively with her hands on her hips, hoping that they'd be too busy looking at her body to notice just how close her right hand was to her own gun. “I'm sure we can work something out, eh?” All she needed was one moment, one second where they weren't paying attention...

“Sorry, sweet thing,” Matías said with a cruel smile as he and his men lifted their guns. “But while the women in Morelia aren't as pretty as you, I'd actually trust them to su-”

There was a flash of something in the dark, and a crunch behind Matías and his men- now one less. “ _Ohayou godhaimaaathu~!_ ” Genji exclaimed cheerfully through some missing teeth and battered lips. His sword flashed once again, and despite his two black eyes he was still as accurate as ever, with two more mercs going down. Now wanting to waste the opportunity, Sombra ducked behind a fallen crate (she never found out of what) and prepared to fire.

She didn't get the chance, though. An arrow struck the helipad right in the middle of Matías and his men, splitting into multiple bolts of light on impact, and spearing the remaining mercenaries. Matías himself went down to Genji's third slash. Sombra had to admit it was impressive- first there was a lightning-fast glint in the air, and the mercenary leader stood stock still for a moment. Then his clothes fell in two halves, but whatever momentary attraction Sombra might have felt at Matías's unsurprisingly fit physique was replaced by nausea as he split apart, neatly bisected through the middle.

For his part, Genji seemed to think it was hilarious. “PHHHWOOOOAAARRRR! Did you thee that? _Did! You! **Thee! That?!**_ That wath tho awethome!” he said, in between peals of laughter. “Yo, Handho, you thaw that, right? Tell me you thaw that!”

“I did, and it was indeed awesome,” Hanzo said indulgently as he leapt down behind Sombra, whom he turned to. “You beat a surprisingly quick retreat,” he said nonchalantly. “Your survival instincts must be well honed indeed.”

“What can I say? I've had a lot of practice,” Sombra said, shrugging casually.

Hanzo didn't say anything, simply nodding in response before tossing a small, circular object to Sombra. She whistled a little when she saw what it was: an old-timey holodisplay, made when they were first introduced in the 2030's. They weren't very useful devices, being capable of only recording and replaying messages with the sole conceit of said messages being, well, holographic. Sombra had only ever seen them in the possession of holographic media historians, insufferable hipsters... and career criminals. After all, having been made before the advent of standard holographic network protocols, with nonstandard hardware besides, meant that they were almost untraceable and unhackable with modern tools and training.

“This for me?” she asked, managing to overcome the moment of awe she felt at seeing such a relic. “Nice- looks like I have something to watch on the helicopter.”

“I wouldn't suggest waiting,” Hanzo said as he walked to the helicopter. Grinning savagely, an effect enhanced by his bloody mouth, Genji gently moved his sword so that it was pointing at Sombra. It was no wonder she felt a chill run down her spine when Hanzo motioned for her to turn the holodisplay on. “Well, Sombra? We haven't got all night,” he said. “By which I mean my brother and myself, of course.”

Sombra swallowed as she turned on the device, a small light lighting up on the side. The 3D image she expected to pop-up never materialized; it seemed the holodisplay was only used to record audio. Before Sombra could sputter in outrage at the rare device being used for such a simple task, her anger at what she heard next took over. 

“Sombra,” came the distorted voice of her (and presumably, the Hanamuras') mysterious employer. “If you are listening to this, then it means that the operation has concluded, I don't care how, and that you have survived. In any case, I trust you remember how you failed to penetrate Oversight's servers? I have a way to rectify that failure. One way or another, you will accompany the Oversight agents back on their-”

“What the **hell?!** ” Sombra yelled, but the voice was relentless.

“-transport, and once you're in Oversight custody, ask to see Jack Morrison. Tell him you have information for Soldier 76.” The distorted voice somehow got even lower as naked menace entered the speaker's tones. “Do not screw up, _Olivia_ ,” he said, and Sombra gasped at the first mention of her real name in more than a decade. “You have had an easy ride so far- do what I say, and it may get even easier. Fail me, and you will see it's not the fall that kills you.” At that, the little light at the side turned off, right as the helicopter's rotors began spinning, leaving Sombra to stare at it helplessly as it took flight.

Also, she certainly could have done without Genji waving her off, for sure.

* * * * *

From her position at the window of the former plant overseer's office, Lieutenant Ana Amari observed as the surviving enemy soldiers in the chambers below allowed themselves to be cuffed by Dorado's law enforcement, who'd been locked in their homes by said soldiers. In truth, she didn't trust either the cuffs or the cops putting them on- both looked untested, supplied by the lowest bidder and about a short hop, skip and a jump from what the people shooting at her used. Then again, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, or so the old saying went. It wasn't the first time she had to make do with substandard personnel and equipment, she knew what to expect.

If only she could say the same about the non-standard personnel under her command, especially the ones outside her command. She could barely find it herself forgive Amélie's little stunt at the end, but if Ana was honest with herself, she had to admit that she shouldn't have expected much more from Guillard. After all, Amélie not only came from a non-military background, but she was trained as a sniper- and if there was one thing Ana was familiar with, it was the level of independence a sniper needed. Besides, apart from her ill-advised assault, Ana also had to admit that Amélie generally conducted herself with a surprising amount of professionalism during the mission.

No, she wasn't the real problem here. As far as Amélie could see, the real weak link was the Swiss woman standing in front of the old overseer's desk. True, Dr. Angela Lacroix had as little practical military experience as Amélie had, but both she and Gerard had worked with Oversight for several years already, and “You should have been aware of how damned important following orders is!” she snarled. “Twice you went off to save your girlfriend-”

“Lieutenant-”

“ _Be. Silent._ ” Ana hissed. “I don't know if anyone has told you this, but I cannot care less about whatever interpersonal drama you two have,” she said. “What I want is a squad where all its members can do their job, when are where they are supposed to. Just because you've chosen to play dress up as some kind of angel does not mean you have the leeway to act like one!” 

Ana clenched her eyes shut as she realized what she had just said, and took a deep breath. “While Oversight agents have considerable leeway in how they conduct their duties,” she said in more steady tones, though just barely, “they are expected to place the mission above all other priorities.” Her eyes narrowed. “While you did save Specialist Guillard's life twice, in what I will admit are very impressive circumstances, the fact remains that you jeopardized the greater mission's objectives to save a single operative's life.”

She took another deep breath before going on- even though she felt her punishment was well deserved, it didn't make it any harder for her to pronounce it. The fact that Dr. Lacroix looked absolutely miserable despite her own efforts to remain stoic didn't help matters either. But Ana would be a poor officer if she didn't practice what she preached, and she wasn't about to commit heresy by following her feelings and going easy on Angela. “In light of your performance tonight, I have decided to strip you of all field duties,” she said, trying to ignore the sickness in her gut at seeing Angela wince and tense up. “Your suit-”

“ _Guten abend zusammen!_ ” Reinhardt announced as he barged into the room, his bulk shouldering the metal doors of the office aside like they were cardboard. “Sorry for the interruption, but I couldn't help but overhear! And I want to say that you are making a grave mistake, Ana!”

“Wha- what are you talking about, Reinhardt?!” Ana asked, as surprised as Angela by the sudden interruption. “And what-”

“Angela didn't go off on her own, that's would be silly of her!” Reinhardt laughed. “And she is a doctor, which means she's sensible, _ja?_ After all, she has saved lives, not just tonight but several times before! That is something only sensible doctors can do, and since we've established that Angela is sensible, she can't have acted on her own, _ja?_ ”

“Reinhardt,” Ana said, exasperation taking over her surprise, “you will explain-”

“Coming right up!” Reinhardt replied. “You see, I ordered Angela to go after Amélie! Simple as that!”

“Reinhardt, I was there,” Ana said firmly. “I saw with my own eyes Angela flying off on her own!”

“No, she didn't,” Reinhardt said as he folded his arms. “I'll say as much in my report, you know,” he said, smiling widely. “And since I was right there the whole time- well, I don't mean to talk badly of what you saw and heard, Lieutenant, but you were very far away from the battle, _ja?_ And there was so much noise!” he said, throwing his arms in the air. “Boom! Bang! Pchew! Dakkadakkadakka! Why, I think it would be very difficult for you to hear me give orders!”

Ana glanced at Angela, who was looking at Reinhardt with grateful hope, which dissolved back into quiet, stoic desperation when she noticed Ana looking at her. Ana then looked back at Reinhardt, both his eyes and smile wide. She knew that look quite well- it was Reinhardt at his cockiest, at his happiest, at his most confident...

At his most _honest_.

With a sigh, Ana motioned for Angela to leave the office. “You're dismissed, Dr. Lacroix.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Angela replied. “What about-”

“I am rescinding my disciplinary action on Specialist Wilhelm's orders,” Ana replied, glaring at Reinhardt for all the good it did. If anything, his smile only grew wider. “Now get out of here before I change my mind,” she said, trying to ignore the joyous relief writ large across Angela's face. “You're not off the hook, Lacroix,” she said, as Angela reached the door. “You **will** resolve your personal matters with Guillard before the next mission. Next time, somebody might not be around to save either one of you- and I'm not just speaking of your careers.”

With a sad but determined look, Angela nodded once, and walked out of the office, leaving Ana (who was suddenly very aware of how tired she was) and Reinhardt alone in it. “Her inaction could have cost you your life,” Ana told Reinhardt quietly. “You do realize that, don't you?”

“I'm all too aware of that,” Reinhardt said, glancing wistfully at the door. “But... I'm an old soldier, Ana,” he said, turning back to her. “I doubt I'd be missed much.”

“You will,” Ana said, looking at him with a sad smile.

Reinhardt snorted. “Well, present company excepted, of course,” he said as he squat on the floor, Ana bringing a seat next to his. “Besides,” he whispered, his usual loud exuberance replaced by a longing sadness, “she deserves a chance, regardless of what happens, or where it takes her, or how many orders she has to disobey.” He paused to wipe a tear from his cheek. “After all, following them doesn't always work out for the best, does it?” he asked, giving Ana one last look before walking out.

* * * * *

“Angela?”

Amélie slowly walked out of the stairwell leading onto the power plant's roof. She had received a call from the medic while she was overseeing the prisoners, and was all too grateful to get away from the soldiers. Some of them looked upon her with sheer terror, others with a mix of fear and awe. Amélie could understand their views, of course- she hadn't had much time to think of it during the battle itself, but she supposed seeing someone brought back from-

_or beyond_

-the brink certainly would unnerve people. She didn't think their terrified reverence would last, of course, what with time and normalcy bias playing their parts. Even so, she definitely thought that some of them would be frequent visitors to the prison chapel.

In any case, Amélie felt perfectly all right leaving the prisoners in the hands of the local cops, especially once Torbjorn managed to re-establish communications with the Mexican government. Though the slum riots were still raging, President Portero did vow to send over some proper soldiers to Dorado once he'd been informed of what was really happening, though having an angry Swede yell at him might have played a part as well. That being said though, the plant seemed to be coming back online, thanks to the surviving engineers using the tools and equipment the squad had brought in the lorry. 

Suddenly, her comms crackled into life. “Amélie?”

Amélie's hand was halfway up to her ear before Angela had finished speaking. “This is Amélie,” she said, then her mind registered the slight strain she heard in Angela's voice. “Is something wrong?” she asked, lowering her voice as she did so.

“...something like that, yes,” Angela said, and Amélie cursed herself for a fool for not immediately realising that was the case. Though Lieutenant Amari tried to hide it earlier, it was obvious to everyone that she was in a foul mood when she called Angela up for a meeting earlier. When Amélie tried to intervene, the glare Ana shot her would have been enough to send Amélie home in a jar. “I need to talk to you somewhere- somewhere private. The top of the plant, maybe?”

Though Amélie was beginning to regret not interfering when she first had the chance, she tried to keep it out of her own voice as she replied in the affirmative. She switched her comm's frequencies, and told both Torbjorn and Satya where she was going, the former actually passing by her on his way somewhere else in the plant as she did so. The look of of commiseration he gave Amélie told her all she needed to know.

Twice, Amélie got herself into deadly situations. Twice, Angela had broken the squad's formation to save her. Amélie wanted to walk up to Lieutenant Amari and protest that it wasn't fair, but she doubted it would do any good. And while she didn't think Ana was as bad as Jack, Amélie couldn't be sure if angering her would have further knock-on effects on Angela. If there was one thing Amélie was sure of though, it was that this was all her fault. Part of her thought that she was being unnecessarily gloomy. After all, she should have been celebrating Oversight not only rescuing several innocent lives, but saving the pride of a nation.

But the strained emotion in Angela's voice was all that echoed in Amélie's suddenly exhausted mind.

She walked out of the power plant then, vaguely aware of the police officers lining the corridors and the rescued engineers repairing the plant as quickly as they could, her body responding in autopilot to their salutes and grateful smiles. Her mind was still elsewhere when she launched her grappling hook at the top of the plant. Not even the jerking of the rope pulling her outwards was enough to pull her mind from her roiling thoughts and anxieties.

However clouded her mind was though, it immediately cleared when she reached the top of the plant where Angela stood, pensively gazing out at Dorado's artificial lake, her arms folded. “Angela?” Amélie asked, walking up to the other woman.

“Amélie,” Angela said, nodding in response. There was another period of silence while Amélie walked up to and stood next to Angela. “Quite an eventful day, wasn't it?”

Amélie snorted. “Have you been spending time with Lena?” she asked. “Such understatement- it was almost English.”

Angela didn't reply at first, only giving a short, small, momentary laugh in response to Amélie's little joke. Then she turned to Amélie, her face serious. “And what if I was?” she asked. “Seeing Lena more than you, I mean. How would that make you feel?”

Amélie meets her eyes, and for a moment is stunned by the intensity of Angela's gaze. In that infinite moment, her thoughts are consumed by the storm once again. Amélie wonders why and how she never really picked up on how Angela felt about her before. Amélie wonders why and how she never let herself _see_ how Angela felt about her. Amélie wonders why and how she was so foolish, so stupid as to think this would go on. Amélie wonders why and how, here, when she has finally let herself acknowledge-

_how her breath caught in her throat when first she saw Angela in her Valkyrie suit_

_how safe she felt in Angela's arms when she carried Amélie down from Lijiang Tower_

_the pain in her chest after hearing about Angela's parents_

_how_ safe _she felt when Angela held her before this mission even began_

_the peace she felt when she saw Angela, glowing through the darkness that twice threatened to take her_

-how she felt for Angela, she has to give it all up. Because she _sees_ not just Angela's affection for her, but also her fear, her anxiety, her despair. Perhaps it was between her and Gerard, perhaps Amari threatened her with something- it didn't matter. She was lost, and only Amélie could help her find her way. 

And Amélie wished she didn't have the strength to do so.

Suddenly, Angela turned, smiling ruefully as she shook her head. “I'm sorry, Amélie, I'm not good at small talk,” she said, and Amélie realized she had been staring wide-eyed, and probably open-mouthed as well. 

“No, no,” Amélie replied. “I was just... surprised, that's all,” she added, which was true enough. “As for you and Lena- I suppose I wouldn't mind,” she said- which was again, true enough, now that she knew how Angela felt about her. But as for the rest...? “Angela,” she began, her words already tasting like ash in her mouth. “Before we set off here, you said you regarded me as a dear friend, _oui?_ ” she asked, and it took all of her strength to keep up the facade when she saw Angela's face fall. “And... I'm sorry, Angela, but that is how I see you,” she said.

But Amélie's heart didn't break then, not really, not while she had hope that Angela would press the issue. Not until she saw Angela's sad smile, heard her sigh of relief. “I see,” Angela said with a gentle smile, and Amélie did her best to keep standing while what little blood she still had ran colder, and her knees grew weak. “Then...” she said, before breaking into an embarrassed laugh. “Oh my goodness, I have really made a fool of myself tonight, haven't I?”

“I wouldn't say that,” Amélie said, her hands clenching tightly around her rifle. “You did save my life twice, Angela, even after I ran off to be a hero-”

_for you_

-and considering how much Lieutenant Amari must have yelled at you for that, I am sincerely sorry,” she said. “If anyone is the fool here tonight, it's me.”

“If it makes you feel better- or at least, less embarrassing,” Angela said, “than you can just consider it repayment for when you saved my own life earlier today.”

Amélie started; she could barely remember the details of what she did, and to hear Angela speak of it shook her a little. “You... you knew?” she asked. “How?”

Angela shrugged slightly. “Satya told me,” she said, as she looked back at the massive lake. “About how you took down ten men who had apparently tried to kill me, all while shouting my name,” she said. “It was quite flattering, really,” she said. “It was certainly something that would make a woman... well...” she trailed off. Even in the moonlight, it was quite obvious that she was blushing as hard as Amélie was, and trying equally hard not to as well. 

“Ah, I see,” Amélie replied. “I suppose that would have given the wrong impression,” she laughed, as sincerely as she could manage. “I would think that surviving a crash would excuse a little madness, hm?”

“It would,” Angela said, before catching Amélie's gaze again. “Thank you, Amélie.”

“What for?” Amélie asked.

“For clearing everything up,” Angela said softly. “I was so... worried, I suppose is the right word,” she said. “I thought I was going to have to choose between you and Gerard, or you and- and all this,” she said, spreading her arms widely, as if to encompass the world- and there was nothing more Amélie wanted than to stand in the middle of those arms as they closed. “Out here in the field, I feel like I'm doing so much more good than I would in a surgical theatre,” she said, right before she turned back to Amélie, her eyes wide open with shame. “I'm sorry, that was insensitive. But surely you understand my meaning?”

 _How?_ Amélie thought. How could she tell Angela that it was that willingness to change for the better, that she knew that the angel before her was whom she realized Angela really was, not the butcher she once thought of her once, and yet keep her still? 

She couldn't, and that was that. “I understand, don't worry,” she said. “You... you seem to be taking this quite well, I must admit,” Amélie said, some small ember of hope within her stubbornly refusing to die. “I don't mean to boast, but I've refused quite a few advances before, and none of them went as well as this one,” she said with a cheerfulness she didn't feel.

“I admit, I will need some time to- to adjust,” Angela said with a heavy sigh. “But I am a doctor, Amélie,” she said. “I can't afford to mope and cry, not when the lives of others are on the line,” she said, a quiet strength returning to her voice. “The suit aside, you know, perhaps better than most, that I am not an angel, nor am I a saint,” she said softly, gazing into the moon reflected on the lake's still waters, a broken pillar of light in the dark blue below. “But that doesn't mean I cannot try, can it?”

Amélie gave another short laugh. “Now, now, _Docteur_ , you starting to sound a little megalomaniacal,” she quipped, then instantly regretted it. It was strange, Amélie knew, but she didn't want to remind Angela of what she did to her. _How things have changed,_ she thought.

For her part, Angela smiled and nodded. “I did, didn't I? Perhaps some things could never change,” she said sadly. Before Amélie could counter though, she went on. “That's why,” she said, catching Amélie's gaze once again, “I hope that regardless of how we part tonight, I can always count on you- if not as... as...”

“Come now, _Docteur_ , you can say it,” Amélie said, as teasingly as she could. _I need to hear it from your lips, even if it is as a joke._

“Fine, then,” Angela laughed. “As a _lover_ , satisfied?” she asked, her smile even wider now. “I hope I can count on you, if not as a lover, than as a friend, to keep me and- and Gerard from doing anything too- too much, let's say,” she finished quietly.

“Of course,” Amélie said, nodding slightly. For a second, her death grip on her rifle softened a little, but Amélie pushed the impulse to take Angela's hand there and then, to reassure the doctor with her touch, back down into her psyche. She had made her decision, after all, and these were the consequences. She was also an Oversight agent, with responsibilities greater than any affection she felt for Angela. And for now, those excuses will have to suffice-

“Ah, can I talk now?”

Faster than even she anticipated, Amélie swung around, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Angela do the same thing. Her heightened emotions were telling her to just pull the trigger, let the stranger who spoke suffer the brunt of her emotional turmoil. Once again, Amélie pushed that impulse back down within her. She couldn't lose control- not now, not ever. Not if she wanted Angela to truly be at peace.

And a good start to that would be to not shoot the garishly-dressed Hispanic woman in front of her. Purple seemed to be the woman's dominant theme, with her already bright purple trim and highlights around her clothes and body accentuated by the greys that seemed to dominate the rest of her clothing. That said, Amélie wasn't exactly concerned with her dress sense. “Identify yourself,” she said. _How much did you hear?_ she wanted to ask, but that could wait.

“”My name's Sombra,” the stranger said. “And...” she said, swallowing as she trailed off. “I think I'd like to surrender.”


	10. Everything is Coming Together

“You look like you could use this.”

Gerard Lacroix looked up, and saw Jesse McCree's smiling face looking back down at him. Around them, the cafeteria bustled with the sounds of the lunchtime crowd. As McCree sat down, Gerard saw the other man slide a shot glass to him, and place a whiskey bottle between the two. “Don't argue with me, Doc. Your face falls any further, it'd strike oil,” he laughed, pouring a shot. After a second, Gerard managed a small, broken smile of his own and took the glass.

“ _Merci_ ,” Gerard replied, downing his shot in a single gulp, the whiskey going down easier than he thought it would. That said, his mind was elsewhere, somewhat to his regret- he'd heard of McCree's tastes in whiskey, and it pained him a little to know he couldn't enjoy it as much as he should have. “Though it is a little early for drinks, don't you think?”

“Says the guy who apparently takes his, ah, whiskey neat,” McCree said with a grin. “Man who won't even wait for a little water in his whiskey, that man's got something on his mind,” McCree said, pouring a little water from a canteen into his own shot of whiskey. “Seriously, what's got you so down, Doc? I ain't never seen you like this before.”

Gerard froze a little. How much did McCree know? How much should he know? And what could Gerard tell him? _I fear Jack might be suffering from megalomaniacal impulses, McCree. I'm afraid that everything I've done to help Oversight, to help_ humanity _, has returned only to stab me in the back. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and I'm running headlong into the inferno- worse still, I fear I might be dragging others down with me._ “Work, mostly,” he said while bringing all his psychological knowledge to bear, and leaning back, shrugging with all the insouciance he could muster. “I'm sure you understand.”

“Yeah, I guess I could,” McCree said, nodding. “I'm sure you've noticed, but Jack's been really on edge since Lijiang. I should know,” he grumbled, wincing a little- perhaps at the memories of his interrogation, Gerard supposed. He didn't witness the interrogation himself, as Jack had brought in outside help from Interpol's own pool of specialists. Gerard could understand that- as risky as bringing outsiders was, it was necessary in that case. After all, it didn't take long for it to be an open secret among the staff that Oversight's security had been compromised in some way. 

That wasn't what mystified and frustrated Gerard since his little meeting with Jack a week prior. What did was that while Gerard did think that some kind of loyalty test might have been necessary, Jack's 'trial' of Amélie was self-indulgent at best, excessively wasteful at worst. While it didn't open Jack to the suspicions of the outright treachery that had semi-paralysed Oversight, it certainly didn't make the Lieutenant Commander look good to Gabriel. The last Gerard had heard, Jack had been chewed out by Gabriel, which was the least that man deserved, as far as Gerard was concerned.

The sound of McCree's voice brought Gerard back to the real world. “How about you, Doc? I'm guessing you've finally got some of the fallout on you, eh?” he asked, downing another shot.

“Hm? Oh- oh yes!” Gerard said hurriedly. “Yes, indeed, Lieutenant Commander Morrison has been somewhat... intrusive with his questions,” he lied. “He can be very intimidating when he chooses to be, don't you think?”

“Oh-ho, no argument there,” McCree said, grinning as he shook his head and refilled his glass. He downed that one before he spoke again. “Then again, I guess he's just doing his job, ain't he? Can't get that gold leaf without being a little scary, right? That why he brought Amélie along with you, I guess? Pretty lady with a big gun- that'd get a man talking either way, right?”

Hearing Amélie's name made Gerard start a little. “Ah, yes,” he said unsteadily. “I suppose he did something similar at your interrogation,” Gerard said. He knew that he was being quite obvious in how he was trying to redirect the conversation, but since McCree had been downing a few more shots than he had during the conversation, he doubted the other man was really sober enough to notice. True, the cowboy seemed to be surprisingly able to hold his liquor, but Gerard was gambling on the thought that he just seemed that way.

McCree snorted. “I wish he did,” he said. “I'm sure some of the guys working me over might have been some ladies' idea of the perfect man, but me? I'm a one way street going the other way,” he said, and Gerard snorted; he'd always suspected McCree of making up 'American slang' on the spot, and it was nice to have confirmation. “Nope, just the good ol' traditional light in the face, good cop/bad cop, 'hook me up to machines straight outta Galaxy Quest' routine.”

“Well, I've never been much of a fighter,” Gerard said, getting up. “Nor much of a drinker, I'm afraid,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I need to get back to work soon, and I'll need to be regrettably sober to do it, unfortunately.”

“Don't worry, Doc, I understand,” McCree said. Gerard had barely left the table when McCree spoke up again. “You know, if you ever need a kind ear, or just a shoulder to lean on, the rest of us are here for you. You know that, right? Even a psychiatrist's gotta need someone like that from time to time.”

“Wh-what?” Gerard stammered a little as he turned around. “Whatever do you mean?”

McCree grinned. “Damn, Doc, what kinda lush do you think I am? Now I admit, I ain't exactly a paragon of professional behaviour, but I like to think I'm serious enough about my job that I ain't downing actual shots on a workday afternoon,” he said, then pointed at Gerard. “And a man's mind must be all kinds of messed up if his eyes and tongue can't tell the difference between apple juice and whiskey,” he said, grinning as he held the bottle up and shook it, right before his expression lost all humour. “Seriously, Doc, you ever get yourself some free time, I'll pour the really good stuff out,” he said.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Gerard said before he walked off, but he had his doubts as to whether he'd actually go through with it. He knew it was foolish pride, but as Oversight's psychiatrist, he thought that if anyone would be qualified to solve his problems it'd be him. After all, he'd never really relied on anyone in his life, and he didn't feel like starting now.

Well, except for Angela.

A small smile emerged on his lips as he thought of his wife. While he was the one who named the Valkyrie suit, it was Angela who suggested that it take the form of an angel. She had wanted the suit to inspire hope in all who saw it, regardless of who they were or what culture they came from, and how could Gerard argue with such reasoning, especially when it fit her so well? He'd remarked then that she should have been the psychologist instead, and now he wanted that to be the case so badly. Not that he wasn't planning to do that anyway, though, but at least then she'd be able to listen as a professional _and_ the woman he loved, instead of merely the latter. He wondered how she was doing in Mexico-

Lost in thought, he had found himself walking to his office mostly on autopilot. His thoughts were brought to a halt, however, when he found himself in front of his office doors; his unlocked office doors, judging by the green lights over the panel next to it. He cautiously pressed the panel to open his doors-

And he suddenly wished he was back at the cafeteria.

“Hey there, Dr. Lacroix!” Lieutenant Commander Morrison said, giving Gerard a kind smile as he put a picture of the Lacroixs down on Gerard's table. “I was just about to say 'come in', but this is your office, isn't it?” he laughed. “Sorry for coming in uninvited. How's things, by the way?”

Gerard gulped as the doors closed behind him, the soft hiss of the seals seemingly sounding like the clang of an iron cage's bars. “I-I'm complying with your request, sir,” he said, walking to his desk slowly, instinctively keeping his back to the walls of his office, as if he was trying to circle around a wild beast. Which Jack wasn't, of course- he was anything but wild. “I submitted a preliminary report of... of Madame Guillard's training session for your perusal, sir- it should have reached your inbox by now.”

“Don't worry, I've got it,” Jack said easily, taking the seat in front of Gerard's desk. “I have to say, I like it- well, mostly,” he said. “Say, you got any coffee in here? I'd kill for a cup of the good stuff.”

“Ah... of course” Gerard said, hating himself for how easily he folded.

As he prepared the coffee, he made ready one of his used mugs for Jack to drink from- it was a small act of rebellion, but the only one he felt safe in committing. For his part, Jack didn't seem to notice as he went on. “Thanks, Dr. Lacroix,” he said. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Amélie's report. So yes, I've been looking it over, and I was wondering if you could punch it up a little.”

Gerard started a little. “ _Pardon_?!” he said as he twisted around to face Jack, slipping into French for a moment. “You want me to what? I can't do that! I'm a psychiatrist, not a... a...”

Gerard's tirade trailed off as Jack cleared his throat and tapped his shoulder insignia, the simple motion causing Dr. Lacroix's blood to run cold in his veins. With a deep breath and slight gulp, Gerard tried again. “I'm sorry, Lieutenant Commander,” he began, but tried to push some defiance back into his voice as he tried to pick up where he left off. “However, my objection stands,” he said. “What you're asking me to do would violate both my professional pride, and medical ethics-”

“Oh don't give me that!” Jack said. That alone would have been bad enough, but what really riled Gerard was the fact that Jack wasn't angry, not just that- he was _laughing_. “You expect me to buy that excuse, Gerard?” he said, grinning widely. “That's the hand you're playing? Really, Dr. Lacroix?”

“Yes... yes, it is, Lieutenant Commander,” Gerard said. “I am not a saint, sir, and I have no doubts I will have much to answer for if word of my misconduct ever got out,” he said, before his eyes narrowed, and he continued in a harsher, quieter tone. “But I will be damned if I let my future be defined by the mistakes I've made, especially if it means I have to keep making them!” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

Once he'd finished speaking, he tried to fix Jack with the fiercest glare he could, all while trying not to faint from the terror he felt. And then-

“Lord bless him, he's got a spine after all!” Jack said with an incredulous smile, before bursting into laughter. “Damn, but I underestimated you, Doc!” he said, rising from his seat to clap Gerard on the shoulder. Gerard winced, remembering what happened the last time Jack laid hands on him, but this seemed genuinely comradely. “Ah, before I forget, I take my coffee with lots of cream and sugar, thanks,” he said, pointing to the coffee machine. “Don't tell anybody, but I can't stand the black stuff,” he said in a mock whisper, going back to his seat. “Give me some milky smooth, love-in-a-canoe stuff any day. So long as Gabe doesn't know, it's fine,” he said breezily as he sat back down.

Gerard blinked for a few moments at how things had worked out in so short a time. “Ah, right, _oui_ ,” he said, emptying a two sachets of cream and sugar each into Jack's drink. “So I'll assume that I don't have to alter Amélie's report, then?”

“Oh no, you still have to do that,” Jack said. He leaned forward slightly before he went on- before Gerard could go on. “Look, don't get me wrong, I'm not asking you to make stuff up wholesale, Gerard. Dear me, I'm not asking you to _lie_ ,” he said with exaggerated cupidity. “Just, ah... take the good stuff you've already said about her, and expand on that, you know?” he said. “Use more impressive words or something, you know? You want her out of our little project, you need to 'officially' convince me, understand? After all, if Director Petras ever had some of his boys look over our books, I don't want them thinking we gave up on a major project just because it hurt our fee-fees, right?”

Trying to ignore the look on Jack's face which said that was exactly what _he_ thought, Gerard sat down at his own desk. “I... I suppose I can do that,” he said cautiously. He suddenly realized that Jack had something planned, as well as that a) it took him far too long to realize that, b) that Jack would never tell him if he asked, that he c) might take 'punitive action' if Gerard did, and d) that he should just shut up and not fight back, at least not until he had some idea of what Jack had planned.

“Anyway,” Jack said, after taking a sip of his coffee and savouring the taste, “that wasn't the only reason I came in here.”

“What do you mean?” Gerard asked, tensing up again involuntarily.

Jack didn't answer at first, instead taking a long swig of his coffee. Gerard didn't know how he could be enjoying it so much- he'd put in so much creamer and sugar he doubted that any taste of the original blend remained. “I received a report from Ana a while back,” he said. “Seems like the squad picked up a hitchhiker in Mexico, a very talented gal- quite the hacker, it seems.”

“And you want her in Talon Division,” Gerard said cautiously, picking up on Jack's intent immediately.

“You got it in one, Gerard,” Jack said, nodding as he gave a finger-gun gesture to Gerard. “Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to violate the ol' Sacred Code of Psychologists,” he said mockingly. “Just bear in mind, from what I hear she'd be one hell of an asset to the team,” he said, his voice dropping. “We've got enough guys with guns onboard, but a hacker? One who can operate in the field? Now that's something else. Think about it, Doctor,” he said, his eyes widening slightly. “Guy has a tank, there's not much we can do against that- but she can. Giant laser? No problem. Every omnic in creation? Done and done. It's something to think about, especially if a man has a wife who just loves the big outdoors-”

Gerard's eyes widened, and his fists suddenly tightened until his knuckles ran white. “Damn it, Jack! I get it! You don't have to threaten my wife!” Gerard snarled as he rose from the desk, palms slamming on the synthetic wood.

Jack's expression hardened- just for a moment, right before the mask came back on. “You know what?” he said, shrugging. “You're right, that's a low blow,” he said as he got up, making Gerard fall back into his seat with newfound fear. But the retribution Gerard feared never came. “Sorry about that,” he said, grinning as he held up his hands in apology. “Hazard of getting older, you know. Sometimes the mouth runs ahead of the brain and gets a man in trouble,” he said kindly, but with a gaze that seemed to stab Gerard in the eyes. “Anyway, it's been nice to have this chat, but I've got places to go, people to talk to, paperwork to sign- you know how it is,” he said as he walked to Gerard's door. “Just remember what we talked about, _and_ to keep it a secret. That should square everything between us.”

But right as the door opened and Gerard began to breathe a sigh of relief, Jack paused. “Oh, before I forget?” he said, turning around just enough so that the side of his face was visible. “You don't want to get that spine too stiff, Dr. Lacroix. It's easier to break that way.”

“Understood... Lieutenant Commander,” Gerard said. Jack nodded once, and left, leaving Gerard to lean back in his seat and wonder.

* * * * *

It was sunny in the target range. Regardless of how the weather was like in Hanamura proper, the training room in the vast underground complex running under the city would always show a vision of the perfect Japanese spring morning. A long, somewhat wide field of grass seemed to be flanked by rows of blossoming, pink and white cherry blossoms, all in front of the doorway of a classical Japanese mansion.

Standing in the shade of the mansion's porch, Hanzo Shimada inhaled slowly, and exhaled with equal, exquisitely regal deliberation before loosing his arrow at the wooden dummy in the distance. It whistled as it flew, a sound that was more than just the arrowhead slicing through the air. Small intake ports in the arrowhead sent air through the shaft, activating small nano-turbines inside it. In turn, these nano-turbines powered the micro-rocket at the arrow's base, giving it far more speed than any mere construct of wood and iron should have. 

Of course, these delicate systems would only last a few fractions of a second before disintegrating, but that was enough. When the arrow struck its target, the force of its impact blew a hole in the middle of the dummy and buried it in the wall behind, temporarily disabling the holographic display and revealing the rock behind it. The display quickly reasserted itself, however, leaving a strange blemish on the far side of the wall with half an arrow shaft apparently hovering in mid-air, one 'glitch' among many, many others.

Some would call using such technology for such crude purposes in crude tools 'wasteful'- and on a certain level, Hanzo would agree with them. It would have been far more efficient to use the arrow's technology in a modern rifle, or a missile launcher, after all. The holographic technology could be put to better use in espionage- if Genji ever got tired of being flashy (an unlikely event, Hanzo knew), he could have even used it to give him limited cloaking abilities. All in all, there were far more practical purposes for the fruits of Japanese genius- but to Hanzo, there was such a thing as being too practical.

For him, the minor considerations of practicality paled compared to the importance of keeping to the trappings one's culture, especially if it was a superior one. So what if the bow and arrow, or the sword were strictly inferior to the gun? The gun was a tool, nothing more; crudely shaped metal and circuits for the masses. The weapons of old required skill- and people knew this. They knew those who wielded them as masters of the craft, and the culture that made such masters as the epitome of human civilization.

At least, that was the intention.

As he turned to walk back inside the 'mansion', Hanzo's eye was drawn as usual to the _Kyokujitsu-ki_ that hung as banners alongside the doors. The white flags emblazoned with the Rising Sun printed on them never failed to stir his heart and remind him of his true duty, and sometimes Hanzo wondered if he was the only one they had that effect on. Genji tried- oh, did he try, but as Hanzo walked through the rice paper doors and into the smooth, steel-lined passages of the underground complex beyond, he strongly suspected that Genji's patriotism was borne more out of loyalty to his family rather than any true nationalistic feeling. 

Members of the Shimada syndicate bowed respectfully as Hanzo walked to his personal chamber; like his training chamber it looked like a traditional Japanese room, the wood and paper panels hiding advanced technology behind their classical facade. Like Genji, they were loyal only to the clan and the name, but not to Japan herself. Hanzo wondered what his grandfather would have felt about their obsequious obedience- utter contempt, most likely. The old man was probably one of the last people who held to the private vows 'defectors' from the Japanese military and law enforcement made when they retreated into the Japanese underworld, right after their failed coup in the early 21st century.

Even more than half a century later, Hanzo felt a little spark of anger ignite. First, at the so-called 'loyalists' who tipped off the Imperial Palace to the coup that was about to take place. Then, at the cowards who sided with them, instead of the nation the pretenders in the Palace were supposed to watch over. Another portion of his anger focused itself on the descendants of the coup plotters, so lost in illegal pleasures and the thrill of the games of the underworld that they had forgot their vows to retake Japan and bring her the greatness their nation deserved. But most of all, to the Chinese and American puppet masters who actually ruled Japan from within the shadows. For them, Hanzo had nothing but the deepest contempt.

Even the warm bath his servants had drawn up for him failed to soothe the slow-burning fury Hanzo felt at the nations he felt were holding Japan down. During the Second American Civil War of the 1940s, it was Japanese soldiers who helped the west-facing Pacific States of America retake their nation from the socialist North, reactionary South and loyalist Midwest. And how had the capitalists repaid the blood, sweat and tears of a nation that had helped them win their independence and victory? By doing business with the Chinese, simply because they had a larger population! By dealing with profit-blinded Japanese companies and buying out Japanese interests in Southeast Asia! Now China and the USA ruled the planet alongside Egypt, while Japan was left to languish in the ashes of a world it helped build.

Hanzo sighed. He hated that he got this way almost all the time he was home, how his spirits never really lifted when on the soil of the homeland he loved so much. Even when he ate his carefully made dinner later, one prepared by the finest chefs in Japan, failed to lift his spirits. Hanzo wondered what it was that seemed to weigh on him so much. He'd successfully executed his mission in Mexico City, after all. He'd disrupted its security and social order, and delivered a bit of a bloody nose to the USA indirectly. After all, between the chaos on the States' borders and the failure of Deadlock agents to prevent is, Uncle Sam can't have been having a good time.

Then again, it wasn't _his_ mission, was it?

Hanzo sighed, taking a sip of tea as he realized just what the problem was. Mexico City wasn't his mission, regardless of how successful it was. And if it wasn't his mission, it wasn't Japan's either. Whatever he did, whatever he accomplished, was probably of more help to his shadowy employer than it had been to the homeland, and that was what really rankled, though not as much as the thought that Hanzo had no other choice. It was obvious his mysterious employer had some kind of international pull, and Hanzo didn't doubt that he'd be able to put Japan on top of the world, as he promised. 

The question was, would he have wanted to?

Hanzo wondered if he should have kept the hacker, reported her as dead or missing, give his employer some plausible excuse, then dismissed it. He would have risked his relationship to his employer had he done anything he couldn't plausibly deny with 100% certainty- after all, he had no idea what his employer's capabilities were. Besides, as skilled as Sombra was, there was something to be said for the quality of quantity, yet despite the hundreds of hackers both from within and outside the clan working on tracing down Hanzo's employer, they turned up nothing. So right now, all Hanzo could do was sit and stew in Hanamura, waiting for-

Ah, speak of the devil.

Hanzo pressed a small button underneath his table, and the paper wall ahead of him retracted to the sides, revealing the rapidly-beeping telescreen. “Hanzo,” the shrouded figure at the end said. “We've got a lot to talk about.”

“Of course,” Hanzo replied graciously in English, trying to keep the scowl from spreading across his face. “You wish to discuss Mexico City, I presume?”

The head of the shrouded figure bent his (Hanzo had decided his employer was a man, more out of convenience than any overt sexism) head, in what seemed like an apparent nod. “Yes, that right. Let's start off with the light stuff- you are sure Sombra is in the hands of Oversight? She hasn't run off, anything like that?”

Hanzo shrugged. “She has nowhere else to go,” he said. “The mercenaries would have spilled her name eventually, or at least her description, and Portero would not let any kind of assault on his precious power plant go unanswered. If the stories of his prisons are true, she would take shelter with Oversight, if for nothing else than to survive. If she is too foolish for that, I suspect she would not have been worth your time finding.” He took another sip of tea. “However, I suspect it's the 'heavy' stuff you wish to discuss, correct?”

“Yeah, and I'll leave that little comment about my time go, if that's okay with you, Mr. Shogun,” the figure said. Even though his form was but an ill-defined patch of black on a grey screen, Hanzo could almost see the sneer in his voice. “Tell me, you do remember how I asked you to deal with the Oversight agents? I know you were there in the room, and your friend the Steel Samurai was right there beside you- you could ask him to refresh your memory if you've forgotten what I said.”

“I can remember perfectly well what you said,” Hanzo replied, resolving never to tell Genji about the nickname their employer gave him; Hanzo would never hear the end of it. Well, that, and Hanzo always thought the Steel Samurai's arch-enemy the Evil Magistrate to be much cooler. “You said to hinder them, and to impede their progress as much as possible.”

“...hmph, so you _do_ remember,” the shrouded figure said, and Hanzo was strangely pleased at how put out the figure seemed to be- it seemed like he wasn't so invincible after all. Unfortunately, the figure rallied quickly. “Good, because if that's the case, then we can both agree that I never told you to shoot their goddamned transport down!” he said in a low snarl. “What the hell did you do, launch every missile in creation against it?! It's a miracle there's enough of a wreck to photograph, much less that everyone survived!”

“You said to impede their progress as much as possible,” Hanzo repeated, barely managing to keep the calm facade up. “How was I supposed to take that?”

“Oh, I don't know, _exactly as I said it_?” the figure said exasperatedly. “Better perk up your ears a second time, Bruce Lee: I. Do. Not. Mess. Around. Not with my words, or with my actions. If I say I want someone dead, I'll goddamn well say so. If I say I want someone impeded, then that's exactly what you're gonna do. And don't even _think_ about backtalking me, kid. If you don't want to work with me, that's fine. I won't deny that you've got skills, but right now I need loyalty. I need obedience. That's big in Japan, isn't it? Obedience? You will give me that, and I will give you Japan. That's the deal, and if you want me to stick to my end, you need to stick to yours, understand?” 

“I am not a servant for you to order around, and neither is my clan!” Hanzo hissed. The stranger's smug tones were definitely grinding on his nerves. “Disrespect us, and-”

The figure laughed, actually _laughed_. “And you'll _what_? Hunt me down? C'mon, kiddo, people try to hack me and mine every day! If Sombra can't do it, neither can you or your boys- sorry, but your kung fu just ain't strong enough, Kemosabe. Oh, and don't kid yourself- you're not all that important,” he said, his silhouette shrinking and broadening, as if he was leaning forward. “Let's get another thing clear: I don't need you. I don't need Japan. You're useful, true, but not indispensable. Keep being a pain in my ass, and our next communication will be our last one way or another, if you catch my drift.”

The figure leaned back. “Now, I've got more important business than you to take care of. See you when I see you.”

And with that, the image blinked out.

Hanzo didn't really remember the next few minutes, the crimson haze in front of his eyes only dissipating when Genji's distressed voice cut through the fog. “Bro! Hey, bro!” he said, his helmet retracted to show the distress he so plainly felt. “Hey, Hanzo! You okay there, man?”

Hanzo blinked a few times, and looked around for what must have seemed to Genji (and, Hanzo realized, the worried attendants standing in the doorway behind him) like it was the first time Hanzo had seen his own room. The walls had been torn apart, revealing the stone and steel behind them. His table had been overturned, and some of the most expensive food in Japan stained the floor and walls. The telescreen had been shattered, and now that Hanzo's mind was clearing up he could see that his table hadn't just been overturned, he'd thrown it at the screen.

He didn't reply to his worried brother at first, instead electing to take a few deep breaths; he rarely lost his temper, but he hated when he did. Damn it, he was supposed to be the reasonable one, the one who would lead the clan to glory! He can't have episodes like this! “Yes, Genji, I am fine,” he said at last. “At least, for now,” he said, still breathing heavily.

Genji looked behind him, and leaned closer. “It's that boss guy again, wasn't it?” he said in a whispered growl. 

Hanzo could only nod at first. “Correct,” he said, closing his eyes to centre himself. “His insolence is matched only by his utter inability to be found!” he said, before placing a hand on his brother's shoulder to prevent a slaughter; the other man had a hand on his blade and was glaring at the attendants, as if he was going to cut them down for their failure to track down the shadowed man. “Genji, it's all right,” Hanzo said, a little calmer this time. “We will not be able to solve this through strength of arms alone.”

Genji's grip on his sword tensed for a moment, then relaxed. “Yeah, yeah, you're right,” he said; both Hanzo ad the attendants breathed a sigh of relief. “I just... I just wish there was something I could do.”

“If it is not too much trouble,” Hanzo said, slumping into a sitting position, “could you bring me a training dummy, and a practice sword?” he asked, a little embarrassed that he'd still need such things. “I have a little anger to work out.”

“Gotcha bro, I understand,” Genji said, giving his brother a thumbs-up before striding to the cowering attendants. “What are you waiting for, you bozos?! Get to work already! You there...!”

Hanzo tuned out his brother's commands as he centred himself, taking long, deep breaths of cool air to quell the indignant fury he still felt burning within him. It was only a matter of time, he told himself. Only a matter of time before Japan was on the ascendant, and he would be able to use the country's full resources to find his employer. Some would say such a pursuit would be a waste of Japan's resources, but like Hanzo's bow and arrow, it would serve a greater purpose in its impracticality. Someone with that kind of pull wasn't just a threat to Japan, but to the whole world. Smaller impracticalities and wasteful efforts would be excused by the greater cause which they served, just like the distasteful alliance Hanzo had agreed to-

His eyes snapped open as a plan began forming in his head. It would be dishonourable in the extreme, what he was about to do, but some things were above honour. It would be dangerous as well, but what worthwhile endeavour didn't have an element of risk? Indeed, the greater the risk, the greater the reward, wasn't that it always went?

“All right,” Genji said, his voice cutting through Hanzo's thoughts. “Here's a wooden dummy and a practice sword to whack it with,” Genji said, showing the wooden figure standing in front of Hanzo, a bamboo 'sword' leaning against it. “And in case that doesn't work.” Genji added, turning to a metal figure, wrapped in black mesh next to the wooden one, “this is one of my own practice dummies, made of titanium alloy and covered with carbon nanotube mesh, so you don't have to worry about chipping it, even with this,” he said, unstrapping his sword and placing it next to the dummy. “And I sent all the servants away, so you can shout and scream all you want. You need the room cleaned up, just give me a call,” he said, tapping the side of his head.

“You didn't have to go through so much trouble, Genji,” Hanzo said, amusement turning the corners of his mouth upwards.

“You're right, I didn't, but I wanted to. What, you gonna stop me?” Genji grinned. “Go on, go wild! Heck, even if you do break something, I'll just have the smiths make me another sword or dummy. It's what we pay them for, after all.”

“As you say, brother,” Hanzo said, walking over to his brother's dummy and picking up Genji's sword. He would have settled for the practice blade and dummy, but the other choice made Genji happy- the choice couldn't be more obvious. “Before you leave, tell me something, Genji,” he said, lifting the wakizashi and testing the blade's balance. “How far would you go to secure Japan's future?”

“As far as you're willing to go, bro,” Genji replied.

“Are you sure?” Hanzo replied, fixing his brother with a sideways gaze. “No matter the cost, no matter what we must do?”

“Why not?” Genji asked quietly, folding his arms. “We're family, and family sticks together, no matter what.”

“All right,” Hanzo said, returning his attention to the dummy. “This is what I plan to do...”

Hanzo then spoke at length, never making eye contact with Genji as he practised basic _kendo_ moves, training himself to respond to anger not with brute force, but with controlled action. His breath remained steady, whether he was striking a blow or makig a point. Only when he was done did he turn back to his brother and caught his gaze.

Genji's lips were drawn thin in displeasure, and for a moment Hanzo thought he had overstepped. But then Genji nodded. “Can't say I like it, bro,” he sighed. “But... but I trust you, and if you say that's the only way out, then I'm behind you 200%,” he said, and his mouth broke into a grin as he play-punched Hanzo in the shoulder. “Anyone tries to stop you, I'll fillet them, you can bet on that.”

Hanzo nodded once respectfully. “Thank you, Genji,” he said. “I don't think I'd be able to pull this off without your support.”

“Hey, what are brothers for, man?” Genji said, grinning. “And you're right, there's no way you can pull this off without me. 'Cos from what I've seen of your sword work? You freakin' _suck_ , man.”

In the halls outside, startled attendants' glanced in the direction of Hanzo's room as his uproarious laughter echoed through the halls.

* * * * *

Sombra could almost forget that her hands were in handcuffs when she stepped off the transport VTOL. It was certainly a change from the squalid Mexican prison cell she'd stayed in for the half-day it took for Oversight to send another transport over, glared at by guards and having to fight for bunk space with other prisoners in the cramped room. The fact that the mercenaries almost immediately fingered her as their hacker didn't help, but still, weren't there laws against that sort of thing? And while the ride over was quieter, it was no less comfortable. The other Oversight agents were barely able to tolerate her, but they were too tired to say much, and when they did they were at least they were more civil than the two women she'd sneaked up on the rooftop.

The blonde one looked like a pushover, and the glare she was trying to give Sombra was just _adorable_ , but Sombra had seen her in combat and didn't want to push her chances. The other one though, the one with the strangely discoloured skin...? Sombra thought her years in the slums had taught her courage, but the odd woman frightened her on a fundamental level. It was as if she knew just how to stare at Sombra with those golden eyes to cause maximum fear, as if she was reading Sombra's very soul, and when Sombra saw that her blue skin was natural and not some kind of night camouflage paint as she had assumed... Sombra had never believed in ghosts and spirits, and still didn't, but that didn't help when every part of her body that wasn't her rational mind was screaming out at her that she was sharing a transport with a walking corpse. 

And so it was that a great deal of relief got mixed up in the awe that Sombra gazed up at the vast hangar she had stepped into. She'd never seen a space so big inside a man-made structure, and wondered just what Oversight needed all that space for. And was that... a train line leading to the hangar? Just how big was the Oversight HQ? Sombra was barely aware of the cuffs restraining her hands, or even her hacking inhibitor implant as she looked around, her eyes open in astonishment, though she would deny this to anyone who asked much later.

Only an insistent tapping brought her out of her reverie, but it was one hell of a hard crash, especially once she turned to see just who'd tapped her on the shoulder and found herself gazing at a pair of golden eyes.

“You heard and saw nothing up there,” the woman calmly said in a voice that sounded like soft velvet hiding a rusted knife. It was the first thing she had ever said to Sombra, and Sombra hoped, the last. It was all Sombra could do to nod.

“Amélie,” the Middle-Eastern woman said; evidently, she was their leader. “Stop frightening the prisoner; interrogation is the Lieutenant Commander's job,” she said.

“Understood, Lieutenant,” the woman said, before giving Sombra a sideways glance that made Sombra flinch. 

Thankfully, at least for Sombra, the sound of an incoming tram managed to take her mind off things a little- and then by a lot, as she saw who stepped off. One of her eyebrows rose involuntarily when she caught sight of the handsome blonde man who stepped out, tall as a mountain and as well-built as one. He wore an easy smile that matched the relaxed stride he used to reach the group. “Ana!” he said, waving at the Lieutenant. “God- _damn_ ,” he said, laughing. “It's good to see you and the squad are okay,” he said, looking over the group. “When I read the report you sent, I almost had a heart attack when I saw you crashed!”

“Aaah, Lieutenant Commander!” the big armoured German laughed- Sombra heard the small blonde man say his name, Reinhold or something. “Such a lack of confidence in us, to think a mere crash would even so much as scratch our armour!” he said, before laughing again. “See? Even Amélie is unharmed!”

The blue-skinned woman- Amélie, it seemed- smiled as well, though her lips tightened when her eyes fell on the Lieutenant Commander, and Sombra thought that just made her like him more. If the Lieutenant Commander noticed, he didn't seem to show it. “Well, that's good to hear!” he said, still grinning widely, when he caught sight of Sombra.

“And this is the prisoner, I assume?” he said, walking over to Sombra, and she suddenly didn't think she liked him so much. His smile had dissolved as he walked to her, his jovial expression having changed to something much flatter. Now that he was closer, Sombra could see the various healed scares, the battle-worn eyes, the thin stubble of many sleepless nights. “You did good, surrendering when you did,” he said flatly. “I'll remember that when the interrogation starts- and so should you.”

He turned back to the squad, and pointed at the German giant and the yellow-eyed zombie. “Reinhardt, Amélie, sorry about this, but you're gonna have to stay on duty a little while longer,” he said. “I need you to escort our prisoner here to the interrogation room first. Once that's done, you can start your vacations. I'm not joking, bin case you're wondering. I've cleared it up with Gabe: barring any big emergencies, you're each getting a paid week off,” he said, to ragged cheers from the squad. Even Lieutenant Ana and Amélie were smiling at the announcement. 

“Petras might not like that,” Lieutenant Ana said. Sombra racked her mind; without her implants' aid, it took her a moment to remember just who was in charge of Oversight.

“Petras can kiss my ass,” the Lieutenant Commander said. “You guys have gone above and beyond, not to mention tightening the bonds between us and Mexico. If that's not a case for a vacation, I don't know what is. Now, let's get going,” he said, motioning to the trams. “Reinhardt, you and Amélie take that one.”

Sombra could see the wisdom in taking two trams- if she managed to escape, she would only take out her two guards instead of a whole squad- not that she thought much of her chances in a straight-up fight with Reinhardt or Amélie. And as the trams sped away to their destinations, she could also see that if she did try to escape, not only would she have to fight a massive German and a woman who moved like water, but rest of the squad would have an easy time firing at her.

She wanted to laugh- if anything, the attention to detail was flattering. What could she do, now that she didn't have access to her tools or her weapons? And where would she run off to? All she knew about Zurich was a) how to spell it, and b) that it was full of Swiss. Still if it made her captors a little more secure, she could certainly cooperate for now. Escape could come later, once she had a feel for how things were run here.

Not that she had much of a good impression, at least when it came to her chances for escape. As she was marched along Oversight's polished corridors, the zombie and giant at her sides and the handsome _gringo_ behind them all, she saw just how heavily patrolled the place was, as well as the rigid discipline Oversight's recruits had. They made way for the agents escorting her, standing to attention and saluting as they passed each other. These were certainly not the easily-bribed almost-thugs Portero liked to stuff his slum police stations with.

Soon, they came to an isolated room somewhere in the complex; all other things considered, Sombra believed she could find her way back- after navigating the harrowed alleyways and dark streets of Mexico City's underworld, Oversight's well-lit passageways and sanitized tunnels were no obstacle to Sombra's sense of direction. Thing was, that relied on her mind being intact enough to remember the paths she took. True, it didn't seem like Oversight would have had the guts for torture, but Sombra wasn't about to place bets on that. 

The zombie- Amélie, wasn't it?- pressed a pad next to the door, which gently hissed open. As she was escorted inside, Sombra had to resist the incredulous look that threatened to take over her expression when she saw that even Oversight's interrogation rooms were warmly lit and carpeted. Even the steel table and chairs seemed ergonomically designed. Her disorientation only increased when Amélie sat her down on one of the seats and whispered in her ear, “Be careful.” When Sombra glanced at Amélie, wanting to be sure of what she heard, the other woman's expression was studiously neutral. 

“Thanks, you two,” the Lieutenant Commander said, waving them out. “You'll want to go and enjoy your vacations while you can, trust me on this,” he said with a rueful smile. As he turned to Sombra and the doors began to close, Sombra thought she saw a small nod from Amélie before they shut. Sombra didn't know what the woman was playing at, going from cold to hot like that, but she put the thought out of her mind for the moment. Right then, she had a more pressing problem to worry about.

“Hey there,” the man said, with a friendly smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “I'm Lieutenant Commander Jack Morrison, and I'd-”

“Jack Morrison?” Sombra asked. “You're Jack Morrison?”

The man snorted. “Well now, it seems my reputation precedes me,” Jack said with a grin that seemed to have altogether too many teeth in it. “If that's the case, then you know that-”

“I have a message for- for Soldier: 76,” Sombra said, just as she was ordered. “I mean, I have information for Soldier: 76,” she said, tensing up. She hoped that whatever her mysterious employer planned, it also included her not actually having anything to tell Jack.

That said, it did have a dramatic effect on the man. “What did you-” he said, his eyes wide. Then without a word, he spoke into the space within the room. “Disable all cameras, then delete all records from moment of entry. Authorization Jerry-Alpha-Charlie-Kilo-Seven-Six.”

There was a short pause, and then an automated voice replied. “Request received and approved. Record of request forwarded to Strike Commander Reyes's desk.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Jack said, rubbing his forehead, before turning to glare at Sombra. “You're gonna bring the wrath of God down on my head, lady,” he said, scowling. “I hope you've got a good reason for it.”

Sombra gulped, but she did her best to keep a facade of confidence. “Hey, I'm just doing as I was told,” she said. She had no idea if the man before her actually worked for her employer, but his reaction told him that she did hit a nerve, so she might as well go on. What had she to lose? Well, apart from her life of course, but she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. “So what now?” she asked. “I mean, if you know what I'm talking about, you should know I haven't actually got anything for you.”

Jack's first answer was to glare at her, and Sombra did her best to glare silently back before Jack turned away and sighed. “Looks like I have to find you a spot on the team,” he groaned, which made Sombra start.

“Wait, 'a spot on the team'?” she said incredulously. “Are you _loco_?! I never agreed to-”

“Neither did I!” Jack snapped. “But it seems neither of us has a choice in the matter, do we?” he added, leaning on the table and looming over her. “I was told to keep an eye on you, keep you safe, until it was time for you to do something actually useful,” he said in a harsh whisper. “And I can't actually do that unless you're under my command,” he said, standing back up. “You could just refuse, maybe try to escape- but trust me, anyone with the pull to know about Soldier: 76 has the pull to make us live just long enough to regret pissing him off,” Jack said, a barely concealed undercurrent of fury in his voice- he was clearly not a man used to taking orders, only giving them. Sombra had to admit, she was impressed at how well Jack managed to control himself.

In any case, it was not really worth angering the man, not before she had his worth- and maybe phone number. Not many men could make 'barely-contained fury' seem _sexy_ dangerous as opposed to just plain dangerous. “All right,” she said cautiously. “Let's say I do join up with your little circus,” she said. “How would that work?”

“First, you're going to address me as Lieutenant Commander,” he said sternly, tapping his shoulder insignia. “You have no idea of what I've had to do to get this rank. I don't care how much of a bastard it makes me look like, you and everyone on this base will respect it, understood?” he asked, and Sombra nodded slowly. “Good. Keep that in mind, and you'll find that you might just like running away to this circus,” he said, straightening up. “Show up for training and mission briefings, and officially, you'll find yourself with a lot more independence than a military unit usually allows.” 

“You said 'officially',” Sombra said, scowling.

“Good to see someone who actually listens around here,” Jack said, sitting down in the seat across Sombra with a broken grin. “Yeah, that guy who told you about 76, he'd probably have stuff for you to do. Lord knows I've done more than my fair share,” he grumbled. “But it pays the bills, even the ones I'm not supposed to have, so I can't really complain,” Jack said with an easy shrug. “But honestly, I'm not cut out for all this cloak-and-dagger crap. Give me a gun, a target, and I'm set.”

“I thought you said you can't really complain, and yet...” Sombra said, with a small smile.

“Damn, you got me,” Jack replied. “Hazard of getting old, I guess.”

He said it while giving Sombra a smile of his own, and Sombra felt that maybe this reassignment wouldn't be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor note: I know that the actual NATO phoenetic word for 'J' is 'Juliet', not 'Joseph'. It's an AU, whaddaya gonna do? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	11. Rude Awakenings

Dorado had become the hell Oversight feared Workers' Row would have turned into. Fires danced in shattered buildings and corpses littered the streets. The klaxons from the power plant were beginning to grow fainter, but it wasn't because someone was in the plant and halting its meltdown. Instead, it was because everything had gone so out of control that the periodic power surges coming from it were shorting out the alarms' circuits.

Or at least that's was what Torbjorn told Amélie, charging her with what increasingly seemed to be her last mission, right before he breathed his last.

Amélie managed to stop herself hissing through her teeth, but the pain from her bleeding arm was not making it easy. She wished it was like in the movies, where having a bullet in one arm was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, but unfortunately real life wasn't so accommodating. She glanced out from behind the shattered wall she had taken cover behind. Three soldiers, their insectoid masks eerily similar to Amélie's own, scanned the ruins as they slowly walked through the ruins. The many optical sensors on their helmets moved in multiple directions as they swept the street; unfocused though they seemed, Amélie knew from recent bitter experience that when they found a target, they'd all immediately focus on it. When that happened, enhanced perceptions and reflexes would only take their victim so far.

She prayed silently for her pursuers to turn back and go the other way, or at least avert their gazes long enough for her to line up proper shots. Or at least, as proper shots as she could manage at the moment; between the pain, the pursuit, and sheer stress, her breathing was becoming more and more laboured by the second. As far as Amélie could see, the only things in her favour were that the heat would mess up her pursuers' thermal sensors, and that the probably thought she was dead-

A rocket blew up a building in front of her, sending a hail of shrapnel raining down on her head. Worse still was the shockwave however, which knocked the breath out from her lungs. Had she not already been leaning against the wall, Amélie knew she would have been pushed backwards. How they found her, Amélie didn't know, and the pounding of their footsteps told Amélie that it was likely she would never find out one way or another.

In the split-second it took Amélie to spin around for her last stand, she realized the pounding of boots was louder, much louder than a fire team of three men should have been. Though her experience and pain dulled her other sensations, she still felt a tidal wave of horror run down her spine when she saw what seemed like the whole mercenary army bearing down on her, spider-faced men leaping through the flames just to get at her. Spitting out a gobbet of blood from her mouth, Amélie pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Too late, Amélie realized that she was out of ammunition, and it was a small mercy that she barely had time to comprehend her mistake when a storm of lead riddled her body, wracking her with a brief burst of agony-

-that didn't end when Amélie hit the floor of her bedroom. The pounding on her door grew louder, but even then it was barely audible above the roaring of the blood in her ears. She tried to untangle herself from her covers, but the effort only brought with it more agony. Someone was speaking outside her room, but Amélie could not hear what they were saying either, mostly because someone was groaning and whimpering inside her room. It took what seemed like an eternity in a red haze for Amélie to realize that was her.

Someone was inside again, and in her delirium Amélie looked up and saw an angel, her angel- no, not anymore, she remembered. She couldn't be Amélie's angel, and Amélie had said yes, and Amelie didn't mean it, but she had to mean it, don't think of her trying to make up for what she did, think she never changed still a butcher not an angel-

Suddenly, Amélie shuddered, her body trembling as the pain went away. She blinked once, twice, then fell on the floor, her whole body aching. As the pain receded, bringing the haze in her mind along with it, Amélie soon became aware of a voice- dulled at first, then slowly growing louder. “Amélie? Amélie, talk to me!” Angela was saying. Amélie felt a hand turn her over, and she found herself looking into the good doctor's concerned eyes.

“ _Tes yeux sont si bleus et beaux_ ,” Amélie blurted in tones of wonderment, and was rewarded when Angela suddenly blushed.

“I can speak French, you know,” she muttered. “And I thought we weren't going to do that anymore, Amélie. Amélie?”

Right there and then, Amélie wanted to sleep, but she couldn't quite manage it. Instead, she stayed stuck in some strange limbo between almost-wakefulness and near-sleep, barely aware of Angela calling out. She was vaguely aware of being lifted onto something, then the sensation of movement as lights passed over her. Murmurs surrounded her, punctuated by bursts of loud yet indistinct sound, as if someone was yelling through a fog. 

Amélie was familiar with altered perceptions of time, but this was something else. Everything seemed to speed up around her, voices dissolving into an endless stream of whispered chatter, movements into a gentle vibration that coursed gently through her body. Eventually, it all was lost in a blur of dulled sensation, her field of vision gradually filling up with an oblivion of light.

Deep breath.

Feel the rising of her chest.

Another deep breath.

Amélie opened her eyes, and her hands clenched on her mattress in terror as several memories of the last time she was in a private hospital room rose back into her mind. She bolted upright reflexively, her eyes darting to the left and right before she realized where, and more importantly when, she was. She slumped back onto the bed, one hand held over her face. Beneath the shadow of her hand, Amélie could just make out the stars twinkling in the night sky.

Footsteps from just outside her room drew Amélie's attention, and she turned to the doorway. “Zenyatta?” she asked, seeing the omnic monk's shape in the doorway, his numerous small spheres orbiting him gently. “Is it proper for a man of the cloth to visit a woman alone in her room?” she asked with a smile. 

“Good evening, Amélie,” he said. Now that her eyes had a little more time to focus, she could see that he was carrying a battery-powered portable kettle in one hand, and a small ceramic cup in the other. “It is heartening to see you are well, and so soon,” Zenyatta added as he walked up to Amélie's bed and sat down next to her. “We were all quite disturbed when we heard what happened.” He leaned towards her. “Lena asked me not to inform you that she was crying.”

Amélie grinned. “ _Merde_ , you have just doomed us both, Zenyatta,” she joked, before nodding at what Zenyatta had brought in with him. “I didn't know omnics drank tea,” she said.

“Unfortunately, we are not quite that advanced yet,” Zenyatta said, sitting down next to Amélie. Though his 'face' was constantly expressionless, Amélie had no doubt that had Zenyatta been human, he'd be grinning softly as he did so. “However, it has been in my experience that a cup of tea soothes most of the ills that plague humans, even those they don't even know about. I admit, it has made me quite jealous,” he said, making a cup for Amélie. “Fear not, I have spoken to Angela, and she has assured me that it should be safe for you to drink,” he said.

“ _Merci_ ,” Amélie said, sitting up in bed slightly as she took the cup. She took a tentative sip, and found herself coughing slightly from how overwhelming the taste was. Whether her taste was as enhanced as the rest of her senses, or simply the fact that she hadn't had any actual food or drink since she came to Oversight, she couldn't tell. All she knew was that, once she'd gotten past the shock of actually tasting something, the sensation was intoxicating.

“Good tea?” Zenyatta asked dryly.

“More than you think,” Amélie said quietly, taking another sip and rubbing her forehead. The pain hadn't gone away, but it had faded into a dull throbbing ache that Amélie could have ignored if she had anything else to do. “I wish Angela was here,” she said, before adding hastily, “I mean, so she could explain what happened to me.”

Zenyatta shook his head. “She did, but I fear most of it was beyond my ability to understand,” he said apologetically. “As she explained it, something happened when she used her staff on you in Dorado- something about the staff 'resetting' a body when it...” He placed a hand under his chin in a very human expression of bewilderment. “I think she said 'resurrects' a subject, but I am not sure if I heard her right,” he said. “She seemed quite preoccupied at the time and muttering to herself, I doubt she was paying much attention to us,” he said. “In any case, the staff either removed or destroyed the various nanomachines and chemicals that your body had grown to rely on.”

“I... see,” Amélie said, feeling a twinge of fear. 'Resurrect'? Was that the word Angela actually used? “Did she say anything else?”

He shook his head. “Not on the subject, at least. She gave you a few injections, and informed the rest of us that you were to be given time to rest and recuperate. And on that note...”

He raised a finger, and waved it slightly in Amélie's direction. One of the spheres left its orbit around him, and began circling Amélie. As it did, it glowed green, and Amélie felt warmth suffuse her body, as if the tea she drank was flowing through her. “In my more warlike days,” he said quietly, “I was tasked with field repairs and... and interrogation,” he said. “In such cases, rapid repair of both steel and flesh proved useful,” he said. “The principles are similar to those in the Caduceus Staff, and Dr. Lacroix did seek my help in developing it- though I suspect that with Master Lindholm's help, she has made her own improvements.”

“ _Oui_ , I'll say as much,” Amélie said quietly, taking another sip. She looked into the dark brown liquid, swirling like the thoughts in her mind. She knew she shouldn't ask, that she and Angela had settled this in Dorado, and yet... “Where is Angela- Dr. Lacroix, I mean?”

“She was on her way to sleep, the last time we spoke,” Zenyatta said. “It was right before I went to get the kettle. Is something wrong? Should I fetch her?”

“That would not be necessary,” Amélie said quickly. “I was only asking. She's probably tired from Dorado,” she added, equally quickly.

“Indeed,” Zenyatta said. “Oh, that reminds me- I understand you captured a prisoner there?” When Amélie nodded her assent, Zenyatta went on. “It seems that, between her skill set and Lieutenant Commander Morrison's penchant for creative punishments, she is to serve her sentence in Oversight itself, as part of the team.”

It took a second for Amélie to get her choking under control, and when she did, she glared at Zenyatta, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. “ _Tu déconn-_ Really? You are not joking?”

“I don't know how to joke,” Zenyatta said dryly, and held up a hand when Amélie scowled at him. “But yes, indeed- she is to begin training procedures tomorrow, under the Lieutenant Commander's supervision.”

“Good, she deserves it,” Amélie said savagely, leaning back into her bed. Her mind raced again, which only made the dull ache in her head intensify. On one hand was the relief she felt at not being part of whatever plans Jack had in store for her- at the very least, he'd have to divide his attention between her and his new toy. On the other hand, the hacker- Sombra, was it?- had proven to be very skilled, and certainly much more useful to Jack than Amélie had been. As skilled as she was, she really was just an exceptional sniper, good for nothing but shooting people. She had no idea what Jack's plans were, and the man was infernally difficult to read, but-

“Now I know there is something wrong,” Zenyatta said, his synthetic voice echoing with concern. “I will understand if you do not wish to share it with me, but all burdens are made lighter the more people carry them.”

“Be careful what you speak of, Zenyatta,” Amélie said quietly. “You might be crushed under mine.”

“Perhaps,” the omnic replied. “Or I could lift them off you completely- I am stronger than you think,” he said, and flexed his arms. Amélie snorted, but then he said “Flex~” and she started laughing in earnest. It wasn't even that funny, but with what she had gone through in the past 72 hours, it was just what she needed. 

That said, all good things must come to an end, and as her laughter subsided, Amélie found herself affixed by Zenyatta's calm, but insistent gaze once again. Not that he had any other expressions, of course, but this one seemed a little more focused than usual. “You're not going to leave me alone about this, are you?”

“If you wish it, I will,” Zenyatta replied. “The true question is: would you want me to?”

Amélie held his gaze for a second more, then she turned her eyes to the ceiling, and began to talk.

* * * * *

“All right, Lena, let's try that again,” Winston said from within the observation room. Far below him, Lena saluted the gorilla and took a few deep breaths, stretching out her hands and pacing in place. Some people were not morning sorts, and Lena felt that she'd never understand them as long as she lived. “Beginning simulation three,” Winston announced. “For this test, we're going with the worst-case scenario: that your chronal particles will supercharge the pulse mine, giving it a larger and more destructive detonation radius,” he said. “It should remain stable if not primed, but still- exercise caution.”

“Got you loud and clear, Winston!” Lena said, saluting and winking at the lab-coated ape above her as she looked out at the obstacle course before her. Small drones, the newest upgrade to Oversight's training program, flitted around the 'battlefield', their miniature hard-light peashooters at the ready. That said, Lena knew that the sensors spread across her own suit would register them as actual bullets. Since Winston _had_ promised to let her out early if she performed well on these new tests, Lena wasn't about to underestimate her tiny opponents. 

That said, the drones were still drones, and despite her best efforts to remain focused, Lena found her thoughts trailing elsewhere. Leaping under a drone and firing at its back, she wondered when she'd train with their newest recruit- or, well, conscript, but Lena was sure that once the other woman had gotten used to Oversight, she'd want to stay. She did look like she could use a friend, after all. Perhaps Lena would bring Amélie along when she went to see Sombra- sure, she was French, but she was a good person even so, and her expertise at reading people might save Lena from accidentally offending Sombra.

Lena's heart sank a little when she thought of her friend, who had been lying in the base's hospital wing since the previous day; Lena resolved to visit once she was done there. Truth be told, though she was embarrassed when she asked Zenyatta not to tell Amélie she cried, now that she had some time to think about it, she hoped he did. That way, when she came to return Amélie's catsuit it would at least be mutually embarrassing. Though, come to think of it, Amélie would still have the edge, especially since Lena planned on asking for an extension on the loan.

Lena slid right under a fallen pillar and into a gutter, seconds before the drones she shot hit the ground. And then there was Doctor Lacroix- hell, both Doctors Lacroix. Lena couldn't understand it at all; as far as she knew, she left for a week and suddenly both doctors seemed to have, if not fallen apart, then certainly begun showing cracks. Gerard looked like he hadn't had any sleep for days, while Angela's mind seemed to be constantly out to lunch. 

And while it certainly wasn't the worst part, it certainly didn't help matters that Lena felt so powerless. It was like when she was lost in the slipstream-

“Lena!” Winston called out. “Are you all right?” That was quite a fall you took!”

“That? Barely felt it!” Lena said, forcing a smile and confident tone as she got off the ground, just in time for the drone that hit her to aim a steady stream of pellets that hit nothing but the afterimages of Lena's wake. Even though that hit was embarrassing, it wasn't enough to pull her mind out of the memories of being lost. Of seeing things she didn't know existed, would exist, had existed- it all got so confusing. One moment, she saw a London that had never known Communism, next she saw one in ruins; whether it was the same London, or even her London, she didn't know. Then she saw herself under gunpoint, but who held the gun she didn't know. The next second, she saw herself kneeling at a grave and crying.

But in all the visions, only one thing remained constant- a beautiful, red-haired woman with striking brown eyes. Sometimes she was rich, sometimes she was poor. Sometimes her face bore the scars of battle, other times she stood unblemished in the sun. Lena fell in love with each and every one, and when she saw Emily in the Workers' Row cathedral, she _knew_ who the woman was, and that she would regret it if she didn't at least ask the woman of her dreams (and past, present, and hopefully, future) her name.

And now that she knew more than ever that she wanted to be with Emily, it hurt even more that the people who made it all possible were suffering in some way. And worse yet, there didn't seem to be damned thing she could do about it, just like when she saw the readouts in her cockpit go haywire. It was only thanks to the efforts of people like Winston that... that... 

Her eyes opened wide, the narrowed as it began working overtime. Lena's mind was barely focused on the simulation, her body going through autopilot- instead, she was already making other plans. She barely felt the planting of her simulated mine, and she was only marginally more aware of Winston shouting words of encouragement and warning. As she leapfrogged one drone, and used a whole firing line of them as steeping stones over a 3-foot 'chasm', she made a mental checklist of people she might need for her plan. 

And the plan itself, of course. Couldn't forget that. Egg on her face if she did, and she'd be red enough to fry it, oh yes.

She backflipped over a drone, landing behind it with her brow furrowed in thought. One hand on her hip, the other cradling her chin, the cogs in her head turned, barely registering the simulated explosion which still had enough force to blow her hair forward and create a second sun in the test chamber. “Right then, got it,” she said, a wide grin dawning on her expression as she pounded her palm with her fist.

“I'd certainly say so!” Winston called out. “Excellent work, Lena! Though I think the whole business with posing was a little over the top myself.”

“Eh?” Lena asked, genuinely bewildered, which Winston took as a great joke, judging by his roaring laughter.

Later, as she sat on a high table in Oversight's chronoton generator room,she began finalizing the final parts of her scheme. On the workbench in front of her, Winston examined her chronal accelerator, tweaking it here and there. Meanwhile, Angela stood at a console, where she ran a mobile scanner over Lena. Most of the time it was just a chore, some extra busywork, but Lena readily went through it. There were times when unusual things happened, like that time when her extremities slowly began phasing back into the slipstream- now there was a memory to make Lena shudder a little. 

Lena set her lips tight. Enough was enough; if she didn't want all those bad memories messing up her mind, then she'd damned well make newer, happier ones. And if she could share them with the rest of the squad, all the better. Of course, her ideas would not fly in a more traditional military- she certainly wouldn't have wanted to see what her old Lieutenant back in the Republican Air Force would have thought of her idea, but Oversight was anything but traditional.

“So, Doctor Lacroix,” she began innocently, swinging her legs to and fro. “I thought you were supposed to be on leave today, what?”

“I was,” Angela replied, and she certainly seemed to look like it. Instead of her usual lab coat and long skirt, she wore a pair of loose jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. Lena wondered if the doctor had more, and if she could borrow them. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I forgot to when you came into the observation chamber?” Lena said. _Oooh, good dodge there, Captain Oxton! Thanks, I thought it was pretty boss myself!_ she thought to herself. “I don't suppose there's any harm in me taking a minute or two to visit Amélie later on? I mean, is she okay, Doctor Lacroix?”

“What?” Angela said, her head jerking up to face Lena. “Oh, yes, yes she is,” she said, stifling a yawn. Lena couldn't help but feel pity, and more than a little admiration, for the doctor; even with Zenyatta on watch, she still couldn't sleep. “According the report I received from Zenyatta, she seemed quite lucid last night.” She gave Lena an arched eyebrow. “Now, is there something _I_ can help you with?” she asked.

“What? What do you mean, Doctor Lacroix?” Lena asked hastily, when she heard a rumbling laugh from in front of her.

“What she means,” Winston began, “is that you never call her 'Doctor Lacroix' unless you want something.” He lumbered towards Lena, newly-attuned chronal accelerator in hand. “Honestly, Lena- and I mean no offence by this- you can be quite the open book sometimes,” he said, affixing it back onto Lena.

At this point, lesser people would have quit and shut up. Lena on the other hand knew how to fly at 15, was a pilot at 16, was good enough to test-fly the experimental Slipstream jet at 18, and joined Oversight on the cusp of her 19th birthday. “With soft chewable pages and big words that are easy to read, I hope,” she said, then turned her attention to Dr. Ziegler. “All right, Mum,” she said, holding up her hands, “you've found me out-”

“Wait, 'Mum'?” Angela asked.

“-and, well, see, you seem a little stressed out,” Lena said. “Honestly, how much sleep have you got since you came back from Mexico? And no fibbing either~!” she said, pointing an finger at Angela. “I can tell! When it comes to open books, it takes one to know one, after all,” she said, pointing to her eyes and then to Angela's. 

“...I have been getting more than adequate rest, if that is what you're asking,” Angela huffed, folding her arms. 

There was a short pause while Lena and Winston shared a look. “Not enough and she's lying?” Lena asked.

“Not enough and she's lying,” Winston replied, nodding, right before they turned back to Angela. “Not enough and you're lying,” they said in unison.

“So yeah, listen, listen, listen!” Lena said, waving at Angela. “I was thinking, since I've got a lot more leave saved up, maybe we can take a day off this weekend. I mean, even the bad guys have got to have vacations, right? So can we! We can really take in the sights of Zurich, maybe do a little shopping, that kind of thing-” she said, counting off on her fingers.

“You unilateral decision that we would like the same things you do aside- for now,” Angela sighed, rubbing her forehead, “what makes you think Jack would allow it, especially since you've just had a week-long vacation?”

“He's a nice guy,” Lena said with such breathtakingly casual breeziness she even surprised herself. “And if he doesn't, I'll just turn on the charm until he does, easy-peasy!” she said, and put on her best 'cute' face. “See?” she asked, puppy dog eyes staring widely. “Adorable, innit? _Innit?_ ”

“No,” Angela said flatly.

“Well, I think it's adorable,” Winston said, patting a pouting Lena on the head. “Though I do share Angela's doubts- the Lieutenant Commander isn't the sort to be swayed by adorability, regardless of how much of it you have,” he said.

“What the- where did all this pessimism come from? At least _I'm_ still an optimist,” Lena said. “And I think that he'd agree to it,” she said, and then gave Angela a mischievous smile. “All right then, let's have a bet: if Jack gives me my vacation, you have to do one thing I say when we go out.”

“And if I win?” Angela asked.

“You won't,” Lena said with the same breezy tones she used just moments before. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to see the Lieutenant Commander,” she said, swinging her legs off the table and striding confidently out of the chamber, a smug grin on her face. Moments later, she walked back into the chamber, except she did so by striding backwards, her smug smile still plastered on. “...we _are_ done here, right?”

When Angela nodded her assent, Lena walked back out as if it was all part of some master plan all along. An ardent believer in the philosophy of 'faking it until you made it', Lena kept up her confident stride through the base's corridors. She kept it up as she reached Lieutenant Commander Morrison's office. She kept it up as she walked past Lieutenant Commander Morrison's office. She kept doing it until it was clear that she wasn't going to fake it- that is to day, her confidence- until she made it. 

And so with a sigh and slumped shoulders, Lena shuffled back to the Lieutenant Commander's office, where she saw Sombra coming out of the room. She was saying something to the Lieutenant Commander, but Lena was too far to make out their conversation. Lena took a deep breath and squared her shoulder- hopefully, whatever conversation Sombra was having with Jack was a good one. No, it _was_ a good conversation! Maybe she managed to hack into Oversight's database, and found out some of the Lieutenant Commander's secrets! Maybe she found out about his favourite colour, and she was bringing him a gift, like a shirt in that colour because it was his birthday and-

“Lena?” Jack asked as she came up to them. “...is there something you want?” he asked, while Lena tried to find her words from among her assorted words.

Now, if only Lena's mouth had her mind's presence of... mind. “Happy birthday, sir! I hope you like your shirt!” _Oh sod, that wasn't it, was it?_

On the upside, Lena had never seen the Lieutenant Commander so bewildered; she gave herself bonus points for the bemused grin on Sombra's expression as well. “J-Just making a joke, sir,” she stammered. “It, uh... seemed like you were discussing things with Miss Sombra here. Serious things. For serious people. Who are serious. Please stop staring at me like that, sir.”

The sound of snickering soon grew to fill the silence left by Lena, and both her and Jack turned to look at Sombra. “Oh... _oh_ , I see this arrangement is going to be interesting, at least,” she said, grinning. “ _Vaya con Dios_ \- you'll need all the help you can get, I think,” she said to Lena, giving the British woman a sardonic smile as she did so. “And _adiós_ to you too, boss,” she said, her smile seeming to grow wider when Jack's shoulders stiffened. 

His glare barely left the other woman as she sauntered off, and he barely managed to tear his eyes away to turn back to Lena, a wrathful expression darkening his features. He placed a massive hand on the young woman's shoulders- then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “What do you want, Lena?” he asked calmly, his eyes still closed.

“Uhm, ah...” Lena stammered. “Never mind, I'll come back later-”

“When I'm in a better mood, you mean?” he asked, his eyes still closed, his voice still calm. “No. Ask me now.”

Lena gulped, but stood up at attention as she did so. Her lips tightened and she saluted, even though Jack's eyes were still closed. “I want more vacation time, Lieutenant Commander.”

Another deep breath from Jack. “You've just had a week off, Lena,” he replied slowly. Suddenly, Lena felt his grip on her shoulder increase slightly.

“Yeah, and I want one more, just for Saturday or Sunday, sir,” she said. “It's Doctor Lacroix, sir, and maybe Amélie too,” she said.

“Who also have the weeks off, unless something important comes up,” he said. Lena felt the pressure on her shoulder increase again.

“Yeah, and they'd prolly spend that whole week just lying in their rooms and moping or whatever it is they do,” Lena said. “Especially Amélie- when's the last time you saw her outside her room? Or outside the base at least? Or, well, when she's not on a mission? A little makeup, more clothes than half a swimsuit, body paint and wishful thinking, and she'd blend in, no problem, you don't have to worry about people looking at her and thinking we've gone all PC and hired a zombie!”

The pressure on Lena's shoulder had been growing more and more uncomfortable as she went on, hence her rambling. Now, as she ran out of breath, the Lieutenant Commander's hand eased up, just a little. His eyes opened, and he gave Lena a look that was both bemused and irritated. “Why?”

“...because they're my friends, sir,” she said quietly. “And- and maybe it's just me, but after they came back from Dorado, they seemed really out of it, sir. Especially with what happened to Amélie. Maybe I've got a lot more faith in Dr. Lacroix than I should, but it doesn't seem like something that would happen if she was operating at 100%, as per spec, and all that,” she said. “Weren't for her and Winston, I wouldn't be here. And Amélie? I know it makes me a horrible friend,” she went on, her voice breaking a little, “but I've only really just realized that... that all we've done since we came was treat her like a weapon. I mean, I know what Widowmaker's like, but I don't know _anything_ about who Amélie Guillard is. Please, sir, just one day- that's all I'm asking for.”

Jack sighed, and opened his mouth to answer- only to be interrupted by the sound of sobbing next to him. His mouth still open, both he and Lena turned to see where the sound was coming from.

“That... was beautiful,” a passing guard (a 6'4” Israeli ex-Mossad agent) said, wiping a tear from his cheek. His partner, a stocky Japanese man, was a little more open with his feelings, and his sniffling was rapidly increasing in volume. 

On one hand, Lena realized just why conversations like the one she was having with the Lieutenant Commander were supposed to be held in his office. On the other... she gave the two guards a thumbs-up, nodding silently and solemnly, a gesture the guards returned (though things were a little more emotional on their end). “Well, Lieutenant Commander?” she asked as they faced each other again.

Jack held her gaze for a moment more, then clenched his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Fine,” he repeated, firmer this time, and seemingly ignoring the high-fives the two guards exchanged with each other. “All right, you know what,” he said with what seemed like resigned nodding, “we've all been on edge a little these past few days, and Sombra needs to be acquainted with Zurich anyway. I'll talk with Gabe, see if I can't get you agents out of the base for the weekend,” he said. Lena's joyful smile would have threatened to take the top of her head off.

“That sounds like a good idea, sir,” the Israeli said, cheerfully, but all traces of his levity evaporated when Jack glared at him. “Resuming patrol, Lieutenant Commander, sir!” he said, and motioned for his partner to follow him- though the other man couldn't help but give Lena an encouraging nod and a “ _Ganbare_ , Lena- _san_!”

“In fact,” Jack said, as if nothing had happened and letting Lena go, “I think I'm going to go give him a reason to do so,” he said, and while it didn't damper Lena's mood all that much at the time (much later on, she would recall that moment with chills in her spine and a cold fury in her gut), she did think his smile then had far too many teeth.

* * * * *

Amélie woke up, though it wasn't entirely her choice. Someone had decided to open the blinds that Zenyatta had so considerately closed early that morning, an hour or so before the dawn even broke. She and the monk had talked all through the night, and Amélie felt that her ability to read omnic behaviour was definitely improving. Then again, considering what she spoke to him about in those quiet hours, she supposed a blind man would've seen that Zenyatta had a lot to think about.

She hadn't intended it to be that way, of course. Amélie had wanted to just tell him a few minor details, skirt around the issue, but as soon as she started speaking she just couldn't stop. And why not? Zenyatta wasn't just a willing ear, he was a willing ear who was content just to listen and let her speak; none of Gerard's notes, none of Jack's careful monitoring and mind games. Not even Angela would have been as good a listener- Amélie had seen the guilt that weighed on her in Dorado, and she didn't want to burden the doctor even more.

That said, as Amélie's still-groggy eyes caught sight of blonde hair which shone with the same gleaming gold of the intruding sun, she felt a little annoyed that Angela certainly wasn't making it easy for her. “Must you wake me so rudely?” Amélie asked. She intended to be insolent, make their eventual parting, both within and without the hospital room, a little easier- yet she couldn't help but smile as she spoke. “What time is it?”

“It's noon,” Angela said flatly, but she was also smiling as she checked the nearby machines. “Honestly, I'd let you sleep longer, but since I need to inject you anyway, I might as well give you a little sun,” she said, sitting down next to the bed and taking Amélie's hand. It was a familiar, practised motion, but Amélie did notice just how gently the doctor held her wrist this time. Or perhaps it was her imagination? God, please let it be her imagination. “Have you noticed anything unusual? And please don't say 'I collapsed', or anything like that,” she said firmly, though her voice did crack a little near the end there. This time, Amélie was sure she didn't imagine that, because despite the doctor's stern glare, she had turned slightly redder.

“I cannot say I have,” Amélie said, trying to keep her own tones professional. “I do feel very, very tired, though I suppose that is from- from whatever happened to me,” Amélie said. “What _did_ happen to me, Angela? I asked Zenyatta, but he couldn't really answer,” she added.

“Well...” Angela said, sucking her breath between clenched teeth. That said, she wasn't blushing anymore now that she had an actual medical question to answer, so Amélie counted that a win. It _was_ a win, right? “It seems that when the Caduceus Staff has to deal with...” She swallowed. “With a particularly severe medical case, it completely 'resets'- I suppose that is the right word- its patient's body state, with any matter deemed 'too foreign', like nanomachines, either ejected or deconstructed.” She rubbed her forehead. “I know, I know, I should have seen this coming, I made the staff, after all. I suppose I should have had Torbjorn look over the instructions I programmed into it,” she said with a rueful laugh.

Amélie snorted. “ _Personne n'est parfait_ ,” she said, and Angela gave her a sad smile.

“I know nobody's perfect,” she said. “But I'm a doctor, and I have to try my best to be, impossible though it may seem,” she said. “If I don't then... then I might just find myself with a particularly severe medical case on my hands,” she said. Though she laughed as if it was a joke, her laughter was bitter, with a hint of terror behind it. It wasn't to Amélie's tastes, to say the least, and what she wanted to ask was even more distasteful.

“Angela, what you spoke to me of in Dorado- do you still mean it? Is it still something you want?” Amélie asked.

“...No, Amélie, it isn't,” Angela said. “But it is what has to happen,” she added, and the conviction, reluctant though it was, in her voice stabbed at Amélie. “I”m sorry,” she finished in a low voice.

Amélie nodded, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to steady herself- both against the wave of emotion that washed over her, and for what she was about to say next. “Don't be,” she said. “If that is the way things must be, then... then so be it,” she said, with more sincerity than she felt. She tried to tell herself that this was bound to happen, that what she felt for a married woman could never turn out well for anyone, and that this was indeed the best outcome.

Maybe if she told herself that over and over, she might come to believe it.

“In any case,” Amélie went on. “What happened to me yesterday wouldn't help with,” she swallowed and took a deep breath, “with our s-separation. We can talk all we want about not having to see each other, but as things are, that isn't going to happen unless something more is done, yes?”

Angela gave a small, short laugh of her own, before turning back to Amélie with a rueful smile. “I wish I knew what that was,” she said. “The only things that are coming to my mind are surgical procedures, treatment schedules, nanomachine calibration... I wish I could do more. Maybe once we've had some sleep-” she began, but stopped when Amélie decided to squeeze her hand a little.

“Then that will have to do,” Amélie said, nodding slightly.

“Wait," Angela said. "You _want_ me to operate on you? But... but... after..."

The phrase 'After all I've done?' was plain to see on Angela's expression, but if Amélie knew one thing about how things were, it was that “Whoever that doctor was, you're not her anymore, Angela,” Amélie said. “And I know you'll never be her again,” she said. “Believe it or not, Angela, I do believe in you,” she said. Judging by the increasingly incredulous look Angela was giving her, Amélie wasn't the only one surprised by the worlds coming out of her mouth. 

“If you say so," Angela said. “B-but even so, I don't think you're in the right state of mind to make that kind of decision.” She gave another short laugh. "I certainly am not," she admitted. "All right, let's get some rest, and tomorrow, we can begin actually discussing what I'm- I mean, what we're going to do with you."

She pat Amélie's hand, and then got up, only to stop in the doorway of Amélie's room. “You know, Amélie,” she said quietly, giving the French woman a soft smile, “you're not making this easy for me.”

“I never intended to,” Amélie said, giving Angela a small grin of her own.

Angela looked like she wanted to retort, but the sound of a door down the hallway made her turn to the sound. Her eyes widened, and she immediately stood at attention and saluted. Amélie hadn't really seen her be that formal with anyone, not even Commander Reyes or Lieutenant Amari- Suddenly, her eyes widened as well, but for only a brief moment, before she closed them again and turned her head to the window. Jack truly had some infernal sense of timing.

“At ease, Doc,” Jack said in a calm baritone, and then a voice that Amélie didn't expect to hear spoke up.

“Is Amélie in? Is she conscious?” Commander Reyes said, and Amélie couldn't help but turn around to look at him- and Lena, who ahd followed the two men into the private ward. Before she could ask questions (and she had quite a few), Gabriel spoke up. “Amélie!” he called out when he saw her turn to him. Unlike the serene, thin-lipped smile Lieutenant Commander Morrison had, Gabriel's smile was wide and warm. “Boy, have I got some really good news for you!”

“ _Pardon, commandant_?” Amélie asked. “Sorry- I mean, what do you mean, Commander?”

Gabriel made to speak, but then Lena grabbed his shoulder. “With respect, sir, we should let the Lieutenant Commander do the honours! It was his idea, after all!”

“You got me there,” Gabriel laughed. “So, what about it, Jack? I'm passing the buck to you.”

“My pleasure, Gabe,” Jack said, and then he turned to face Amélie. She was suddenly grateful for what happened to her; she didn't think he took notice of the sudden shiver that ran through her when Jack caught her gaze. “So... yeah, remember how you kicked my ass during that impromptu training session we had before you went to Dorado?”

“Somewhat,” Amélie replied cautiously as she wondered why he'd lie so blatantly like that. “What is this about... sir?”

“Hold on, I'm not done yet! Geez, patience, Amélie!” he laughed, though Amélie noted that his mirth hadn't quite seemed to reach his eyes. “See, I and Gabe have been looking over your records, and after both Lijiang and Dorado, we've come to the conclusion: you're way overdue for a promotion!”

“Wait, what?” Amélie and Angela asked together. Amélie wanted to sit up straight, but the ache in her back prevented her from doing so. “Sirs, are you sure?” she asked. “I haven't been here for very long- why not promote someone like Torbjorn? Or Reinhardt?”

“Because we can't afford to,” Gabriel said. “We need the best and most talented in Oversight, and moreso in Talon Division. Reinhardt's perfectly fine with staying exactly where he is right now, and other agents like Torbjorn and even Doctor Lacroix here,” he said, nodding respectfully at Angela, “are just too talented and important in their current positions to risk promoting. You also have a knack for reading people, and honestly that's a talent that's a whole hell of a lot more useful for an officer.”

“Which is why after some discussion,” Jack said, walking to the front of his little group. “We've decided to promote you to Lieutenant, same as McCree, same as Ana,” he added. “For now though, you're still taking orders from them, but once we get some more guys together, you'll be leading your own squad in no time! Besides, the pay's pretty good,” he said. “So, what'll it be, Amélie?”

Amélie was sorely tempted to tell him just where he could stick his promotion- but then she saw the excited expression on Lena's face. The happy smile on Angela's. Then there was even the fatherly grin Gabriel sported. Only Jack's small, knowing smile was out of place, and the short glance his eyes did in Angela's direction were certainly out of place in the room's joyful atmosphere.

A chill realization hit Amélie: the bastard had got her good- if she refused, there might be suspicions raised as to why. Especially now, with rumours of a traitor, or at least a leak, in Oversight (though Amélie certainly had some suspicions as to who it was). And if- oh, who was she kidding?- _when_ she does accept the promotion, then any action she takes against Jack would be seen as backstabbing from an ingrate wanting to rise through the ranks.

“Well, when you put it that way,” she said, forcing a smile to her face, “how could I refuse?”


	12. One Day In Zurich

Looking behind her in her room's full-length mirror, Amélie moved her gaze slowly down her back, her eyes tracing the delicate network of wires and circuitry there. In the middle of it all was a small coloured patch right on top of her upper spine. At the moment, it was a somewhat dark shade of blue- it was just enough to help it stand out from the black web of surface circuitry, but dark enough to blend into the darkness if Amélie needed to. The circuitry didn't extend throughout her skin and flesh, and was confined to her upper back, a fact that Amélie was grateful for- she was sure she would get used to the slight tingling sensation in time, but right now it was like a dull itch she couldn't scratch.

All in all, it really felt like she had a spider on her back, and indeed, the circuitry did bear an uncanny resemblance to one. She wondered if Angela did it on purpose- what better better symbol was there for the Widowmaker, after all? Then again, that kind of joke seemed more in line with Jack's sense of humour, though Amélie had her doubts about how involved he was with her surgery. Perhaps it really was just a coincidence, and Amélie's new internal nanofactories had to be placed like they were.

Next, Amélie inspected her right inner arm, where a similar thin layer of circuitry lay embedded in the skin and flesh. It looked like a spider's web emanating from a long, thick-lined barcode. Like the patch on her back, the bars were coloured that same dark shade of blue. According to Angela, it would take at least eight hours for the patches to go from blue to green, and another eight to red, the various colours indicating just how close she was to nanomachine and nutrient deprivation.

Amélie couldn't help but be more than a little impressed. In the space of less than a week, Angela and Torbjorn had improved the original nanomachine design to allow for a vastly improved array of functions- such as allowing Amélie to actually eat real food and drink. Even more impressive was that they would be able to use certain nutrients from the food Amélie ate to perform self-maintainence, extending the length of time Amélie would have between fresh injections (since they couldn't sustain themselves indefinitely). Even then, the Caduceus Staff's databases had been updated to not only register Amélie's nanomachines as foreign matter, but also be able to replenish them on the fly. 

All in all, she felt much better about it than she thought she would. She turned around and walked to the mirror, taking in every inch of herself. With a soft laugh, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the glass. Part of her did mourn the street dancer on the Seine, the Amélie who would bathe in the light of the rising and setting sun, illuminated against the river's dark waters by the lights of Paris. It was certainly a far less complicated life she led, that was for sure.

With a sigh, Amélie turned away from the mirror and walked to her wardrobe, her thoughts still racing as she looked through it. As much as she missed her old life, the one she led now was certainly more exciting- and if she had to admit it, rewarding as well. She'd saved lives, maybe even nations. She had seen more of the world in a few short months than she ever had in the twenty-six years leading up to it. She had met all manner of interesting people as a dancer, but she had come to know far more as an agent-

“ _Merde_ ,” she hissed, looking at the clothes she had inside. All of them military-issue, all of them specially-designed to accommodate her physique, her natural skills and talents, and her role in the squad. In short, they were all catsuits of varying dark colours mixed with mottled grey. Perfect for infiltrating dark environments, both urban and natural, not so much for a day on the town. _Angela wouldn't have this problem_ , Amélie thought to herself, then smiled sadly. She knew Lena had good intentions for this trip, but she certainly wasn't making it any easier for Amélie and Angela to part. Then again, it wasn't like Amélie did hers either.

There was a knocking on the door, and upon opening it Amélie was greeted by the sight of the eternally chipper Lena, smiling so widely it was a wonder the top of her head didn't just fall off. Unlike Amélie's still military catsuit, Lena wore a denim jacket over her chronal accelerator and a pair of jeans. Her footwear were still those atrocious Gators™ though; how those ever passed Oversight's military planning committee, never mind upgraded for maximum military use by Winston, Amélie would never know. “Amélie!” she squealed, hugging the other woman so tightly Amélie had a little difficulty breathing.

“Is this how you hug Emily?” Amélie gasped, her eyes bulging. “How is that poor girl still breathing?”

In response, Lena just stuck her tongue out at Amélie, before she finally took note of Amélie's clothes- or rather, the lack of it, at least when it came to going out. “What the- Amélie! You can't possibly be thinking of going out looking like that!” she said. She also tried to glare at Amélie, but all it did was give Amélie the impression that she was talking to an angry lesbian chipmunk. 

“Do I look like I would have that much makeup?” Amélie asked through clenched teeth, though the effect was ruined somewhat by her wincing and swearing under her breath as she massaged her strained ribs. “Ask Angel-” She swallowed her words, and took a deep breath. “I am afraid I cannot change the colour of my skin so easily, Oxton,” she said with icy calmness.

Which, as she should have expected, just slid off Lena. “What? No! That's not what I meant, you big silly!” she said, her hands on her hips. “I mean, Winston goes out all the time-”

“What?”

“-and nobody minds! Not anymore! I'm talking about your clothes, Amélie!” she said, pointing at the catsuit Amélie was wearing. “I mean, you're French! You invented _haute couture_! I can't even spell that!”

“That is hardly surprising,” Amélie replied. “As for my clothes, it seems I don't have anything suitable for the occasion.” She shrugged. “Such a shame.”

“Oh _oooo_ no, you're not getting away that easily!” Lena said, poking Amélie in the chest. “This is your special day in more ways than one, and I'm not going to let you bunk off while we're all having fun!” she said, now giving the impression of a firm-but-caring lesbian chipmunk. “Especially since you can eat now, and I'm going to have you stuff yourself with the finest in Swiss cuisine!”

Amélie nodded slightly. “I do admit, I have missed the taste of chocolate,” she said. In truth, now that she considered it, a week's worth of surgery to turn her into an abomination of science and nature was worth it if she got to taste chocolate again. That it would be Swiss chocolate only made her mouth water more.

“It's not just chocolate,” Lena said. She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “There's cheese too.”

“ _Trés formidable_ ,” Amélie replied. “Because France doesn't have enough of that.”

“No, I'm serious,” said a very serious lesbian chipmunk. “You haven't _lived_ until you have had the dark chocolate and cheese fondue at this one place I'm going to show you. Which I can't do, unless you're dressed properly!”

“You will just have to manage then,” Amélie said stiffly, turning to walk back into her room. “I have nothing outside my work uniform. Oversight has not issued me with anything else,” she said, surprising herself with the bitterness in her voice.

“Oh... oh, I see,” Lena replied, and Amélie's sense of surprise deepened when she realized Lena actually felt... despair? Guilt? Certainly seemed like guilt. “Y-yeah,” she said, giving Amélie a guilty smile while rubbing the back of her head. “Maybe I shouldn't have waited for a special occasion to do this,” she said, adding in a quieter voice as she hung her head down, “God, I'm such a terrible friend.”

Amélie sighed; Lena wasn't the only one feeling that way as well. “No,” Amélie sighed, rubbing her forehead, “no, you're not.” She placed a hand on Lena's shoulder and smiled. “Look, Lena, thank you for trying to arrange this, but unless you're fine with me walking around in this,” Amélie said, indicating her catsuit, “or more importantly, if the police are, then I-”

“Wait, that's it!” Lena said, her eyes bulging open. “Amélie! Your catsuit! It fit me! It fit me perfectly!” she said, then her eager gaze turned into a thousand-yard stare. “Maybe _too_ perfectly, to tell the truth...”

“I... did not need to know that,” Amélie said, clenching her eyes shut. Expense account be damned, she was either going to give Lena that catsuit or burn it and request a replacement from the quartermaster.

“But anyway!” Lena said, springing back to normal. “That means we're the same size, more or less! You can wear my things! Come on!” she said, and before Amélie knew it, she was being pulled through Oversight's barracks to Lena's room. It wasn't all that far off, which Amélie was grateful for, lest she be confined to the hospital again with a dislocated arm. “Aaand wallah!” Lena said, mangling the French language as she threw open her own wardrobe and displayed to Amélie the fineries contained within. That said, as facetious as Amélie wanted to be when describing Lena's fashion sense, the girl did seem to have one.

“Then why those shoes though?” a shocked Amélie whispered, unaware she had even said anything until Lena answered.

“Why? 'Cos they're comfy, that's why!” she said with a confident grin. “When we're running about shooting bad lads, that's not the time for blisters, yeah?” she said, then began rummaging around in the wardrobe. “Right, so let's see what we have in here...”

A short while later, as they walked through Oversight's halls on their way to the reception area, Amélie was beginning to think she'd have been more self-conscious and attracted less attention wearing her catsuit. Apparently, what neither of them had realized up to that moment was that Amélie's catsuit was made of some kind of smart fabric that stretched or (and this was the important bit) compressed itself to fit wearers within a certain size range. Also apparently, Amélie without her shock-absorbing boots and Lena in her padded Gators™ were about the same height, which contributed to each woman thinking they were around the same size as well.

The upshot of this was that after a spending a while trying to fit Lena's various outfits on Amélie's body, and Lena telling Amélie to “Pick bloody whatever, we're gonna be late!” at the end, Amélie was now wearing what amounted to a white, short-sleeved belly shirt and a pair of long, black jeans that Lena had been planning to return as the legs were too long. That small, calm and collected part of Amélie which marvelled at her cybernetic enhancements was quite interested in the results- many men (and more than a few women) had their heads turned. Some had even walked into walls and doors when Amélie passed by. 

The rest of her tried not to burst out laughing at the _absolutely adorable_ growly noises the jealous Lena was making. “Is something wrong, Lena? You seem uneasy,” Amélie asked, with as much concern and obliviousness as she could fake. She knew that what she was doing was mean, to say the least, but _mon Dieu_ , the effort Lena made to be nice certainly salved her conscience!

“What? No, no!” Lena replied through a smile that was mostly clenched teeth, hastily waving a hand as she did so. “”It's fine, it's fine!” she said, and it took every gram of Amélie's willpower to not burst into laughter there and then. It was perhaps a small mercy for the two of them when they met up with the rest of the civvie'd up Oversight team- and 'team' it was; even Winston, Sombra, Gerard and Strike Commander Reyes were there, with the only notable exception Amélie could see being Big Sky. “Hey everyone!” Lena called out. “Sorry we're late!”

“I'm not complaining,” Jack said, and Amélie didn't care for the way he smiled at her. It would've been bad enough if he looked at her with desire- but his grin was a calculating one, and Amélie began to suspect that whatever his plans were, it didn't end with her promotion. “All right, kids,” he said, turning to the rest. “Everyone ready for their field trip?” He looked again at Amélie. “I sure am.”

* * * * *

The sleek jet landed at a private airfield just outside of Zurich, its arrival registered in the logs of Swiss Intelligence, but lost in the endless stream of data. Not that it was their fault, of course- under normal circumstances, the names of the jet's occupants would have sent up more red flags than the British Red Army. However, there was a lot one could conceal with the aid of a literal army of hackers and corrupted security experts creating false IDs, inserting false sightings into Interpol databases, and flooding various police forces around Asia with false tipoffs from 'overly concerned citizens'.

All in all, Hanzo and Genji Shimada had every right to feel secure, especially as they looked every inch a normal Japanese businessman and his bodyguard respectively, their tailored suits somehow looking all the more lavish for their simplicity. Their disguise was certainly enough to fool their welcoming committee. “Mr. Sato,” the guard said, saluting. “Everything's checked out, enjoy your stay.”

“I hope so, thank you,” Hanzo replied in slightly accented English, giving the guard an easy smile. “It's my first time here, and I'll admit, I'm very excited,” he said, shaking the golf bag on his shoulders lightly. A small drone hovered itself next to him and scanned both him and the bag, a small cone of light extending from the basketball-sized sphere. Apparently satisfied with its scan, it flew back to the guards.

“Mr. Sato,” Genji said to his brother in Japanese, holding a finger to his earpiece. “My apologies, but we should really get moving.”

“Ah, right, right,” Hanzo said, the same easy grin seeming to have been craved into his face. “Sorry about this,” he said to the guards, who simply nodded in response. Walking through the small airport was equally uneventful, with Genji periodically checking his watch. He also placed a finger to his non-functioning earpiece every so often, though not as frequently as he checked his watch. For his part, Hanzo kept up a steady tide of inane and business-sounding prattle, to which Hanzo simply grunted and nodded.

The Shimadas' reach was long, but it wasn't deep- and both Genji and Hanzo preferred it that way. To rely on people outside the clan disgusted them; the thought of needing to trust in the dedication and abilities of actual foreigners would have been too much to stomach. Better to make plans that didn't require foreign help outside of resolving minor inconveniences- having the need for a plan or long-term strategy that did was as much a failure as an outright loss was, at least to the Shimadas.

That said, corrupting and manipulating foreigners was perfectly all right, and as the leaders of the clan Genji and Hanzo were perfectly fine with bending the rules when it suited them- such was their privilege, after all. One example took the form of small bribes to a limousine rental agency in Zurich, a few little handouts to ensure privacy for the young Mr. Sato and his bodyguard. And when they both got into their specially-ordered rental vehicle after returning their omnic driver's salute, a small scan from one of Genji's less obvious ocular cybernetics confirmed the lack of any surveillance equipment, as well as the jammers they had asked to be installed.

“-and so now we can finally be sure that nobody's listening in,” Genji laughed in Japanese, smacking his brother lightly in the shoulder. “Honestly, bro, you can be so paranoid!” He tapped the windows. “Tinted too, eh? Nice!”

“Normally, you'd be right about me being paranoid,” Hanzo said, stretching out a little. “But in this case, I think it is warranted. We cannot take any chances,” he said, then considered a moment. “Any more than we have already taken, at any rate.”

“Hey, no argument here, bro,” Genji said, leaning back with his arms behind his head. “This is your plan, I'm not gonna step on your toes.” He shrugged. “I'm just saying it's a lot more security than what we usually go for. It's going to take some getting used to.”

Hanzo waved his brother off. “Don't worry, brother, you'll be free of these shackles soon enough, just as soon as your work begins.”

Genji nodded in response, a little serious now. “Yeah, that's something I wanted to talk to you about. Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna do it, you know, but I'm.... I'm not sure about how to do it, I think?” He sighed. “I mean, you were always the brains of the outfit. What you're asking me to do... it's not the 'up close and personal' I'm used to, you know?” He rubbed his forehead and sighed again. “Sorry, bro, just nerves, I guess. It never really sunk in, you know, what you're asking me to do.”

Hanzo sat silent for a second, looking at his brother incredulously. “Genji, you are not like the common thugs we employ,” he said sternly. “You're a prince of the Shimada clan! That will come with duties and responsibilities that you cannot shirk, nor be able to solve with a sword. If anything were to happen to me, you will need to take over- and tasks like the one you are about to perform will be but a small part of your duties then. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah, bro- I mean, yes, brother,” Genji said, his head hanging lower.

Hanzo sighed- and with a small smile, pat his brother on the shoulder. “And now that the sermon is done, I want you to know that I'm confident that you'll get things right,” he said. “Remember? I told you before we came here that I handled most of the delicate negotiations. Just turn on that patented Genji Shimada charm, finalize the deal and you'll do fine. I think I've got the harder task, having to find one woman in a city of almost a million people,” he sighed.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that, Hanzo.”

Hanzo waved his brother's apology away. “It's no matter- we did not know this was how things would work out, and you work best on the front lines anyway. It's not your fault your face is one that Oversight might be familiar with.” That was another complication Hanzo could have gone without. That said, his employer seemed to have some pull within Oversight, and it was likely that he wouldn't allow descriptions of the Shimadas to escape Oversight's walls. It was a pleasing irony that their employer would shelter the means of his own destruction like that. Or was it poetic retribution? Hanzo could never quite tell.

In any case, as soon as they stopped at their hotel, the two brothers went through the motions once more, with Hanzo leaving after having a light brunch with his brother. Genji nodded a silent goodbye, and proceeded to the room had reserved for the rest of the week, any longer and Hanzo feared they would start arousing suspicion. It wasn't their only refuge in Zurich, though- if they needed more time, they would simply make reservations elsewhere.

Just as he was about to lie down and get some rest before his contact got in touch, there was a knock on the door. Cursing under his breath, Genji was about to walk to the door, when his instincts kicked in. He reached inside his golf bag and took out his wakizashi, the scabbard glinting slightly with the various nanotech coatings they used to fool the scanners, a glint that also subtly marked his suit. His breath slowed to a steady rhythm as he looked through the peephole, only to escape in a relieved sigh when he saw an omnic maid standing outside in their hotel's service uniform. “Hold on a second,” he said grumpily as he put his sword back in the golf bag- he did remember Hanzo calling room service right before he left.

The omnic walked into the room, bowing slightly. “Forgive me if I've interrupted anything, sir,” she- it said as it closed the door. “The sign on your door said it was all right if-”

“Yes, yes,” Genji said, waving her off as he got back on the bed. Stupid hotel couldn't even send a pretty girl in a maid uniform up- so much for 'Western Civilization'. “Just leave my br- my bodyguard's food here,” he said, nodding towards a table in the room, his hands behind his head. “I sent him out; he'll be back shortly.”

“As you wish, sir,” the omnic said, taking a covered silver plate off its tray and placing it on a table. “Will there be anything else you need, Master Shimada?”

Both Genji and his blade moved with lightning speed, and if an omnic could feel fear, Genji fancied he could see it in the creature's 'eyes' as the blade halted millimetres from the side of its head. “Talk,” he said quietly, all traces of the playboy gone.

“Quite an impressive display, Master Shimada,” the omnic replied in perfect Japanese, holding up its hands in placation. It didn't work, of course; Genji's blade remained perfectly still. “I am simply here to ensure that ours will be a profitable, if not entirely pleasant, relationship,” it said.

Genji remained outwardly in both body and expression as still as a mountain. Inwardly though, he sighed like never before. _The things I do for clan and country..._

* * * * *

When Sombra decided to join Oversight (and she would maintain that story to the end of her days, even if it killed her), she certainly had some idea that she would be in the company of unconventional people. A dark blue zombie sniper? Sure. A healer who dressed like an angel? Strange, but true! And an actual, real-live cowboy in this, _el año de Nuestro Señor_ 2068? All right, that would take some getting used to, but she had just come from working with actual ninjas, she could deal with this.

But just that morning she had been hustled along the streets of Zurich by a girl who travelled through time on a regular basis and her best friend, a gorilla in a flannel shirt and khaki shorts- as much as she hated to admit it, a girl had her limits. That the gorilla was also capable of speaking English was also a little overwhelming. Of course she'd read about Winston before, both through cultural osmosis and through her own research, and she'd seen him around the base once or twice, but there was a marked difference between reading about someone on the 'net and actually meeting him face to massive grinning fangs-that-were-probably-meant-to-be-friendly-but-really-weren't. She might have been able to cope better if they got more of a reaction from the populace, but everyone save for a few obvious tourists seemed to treat their little group as perfectly normal.

She needed some space, which was why she was currently leaning against a railing on the street outside the restaurant, looking down on the rest of Zurich. Like most modern cities of the late 21st century, Zurich had the choice of building deeper or higher, and chose the latter. Though not as dramatic as the layered cities of Tokyo or Hengsha, its three gentle, sloping tiers were still a marvel of modern engineering. Oversight being what it was, it occupied the topmost tier, but even so Sombra couldn't really see any big differences between the topmost tier or the lowest. As far as she could see, Zurich was comfortable affluence all the way down-

“Makes you sick, doesn't it?”

Sombra jumped, and turned to see Jack gazing back at her. “What was that?”

Jack slumped, sighed, and turned his gaze downwards. “It looks so fake, doesn't it?” he said softly, nodding to the lower tiers. “No city- no actual city, at any rate- looks like this, does it? No honest grime from industry, so many automated systems handling the chores, building upon building full of people who didn't have to do any actual work in their lives.”

Sombra snorted. “Is the salary that good?”

Jack laughed. “Well, there are _some_ perks to working in Oversight,” he said. “It almost makes up for Swiss taxes taking half my paycheck away,” he said, before fixing Sombra with a piercing stare. “It gets better, don't worry.”

“Hm?” Sombra said, trying to fool Jack with her insouciance, and knowing it wasn't working.

“You'll get used to... all this,” he said, gesturing over to the city below and around them. “Especially once you realize that the whole damn reason these people get to sleep without having to worry about the city collapsing around them is thanks to you, and they know it,” he said. “And also because it's not Monaco,” he said, grinning. “Now Monaco- Monaco makes Zurich look like Queens,” he grumbled. “What? It's true!”

“You know, if you wanted to show off about how much of the world you've seen, there are better ways to do it,” Sombra replied.

“Better ways to show off that you haven't than storming out of your team member's lunch,” Jack countered calmly. Before Sombra could answer, Jack held up a hand. “Whoa, hey there- no need to let off on me,” he said, throwing Sombra a little off-balance; she didn't mean to do anything of the sort. “Just wanted to say it's great to have someone on the team who sees things my way, if you know what I mean,” he said. Though his tone was playful, the look he gave Sombra was anything but. It was strangely comforting- now that she knew he wanted her for something, she felt a little at home.

She folded her arms, her confident smile a little more sincere now that she was on slightly more familiar ground. “I think I might,” she said. “English isn't my first language, after all.”

Jack nodded approvingly. “Well, I guess I'll just have to try speaking something with a little more appeal, than,” he said. “I'll just need a little time to get a few things past Oversight's accountants, and hopefully I'll be able to set you up with a credit line. Before you ask- no, I'm not giving you access to that section of our database, and I hope you'll at least let me clear a few things up with the Director and our Accounting Department before you inevitably get in anyway. And try to keep your extra spending to a minimum- I can't protect you if you embezzle too much.”

“You know me too well,” Sombra replied, looking around. Now that she had a little time to look around, it seemed that she and Jack were... relatively alone. She didn't see anyone close enough to listen to them, and if she leaned with her back to the balcony, she could keep an eye out for anyone watching. True, she would leave herself wide open for anyone to read her lips, but if she was that paranoid she'd have never left the base. And the way she saw it, Zurich's boring safety and stifling sterility would make a great breeding grounds for security cameras, but not lip-readers constantly watching them.

She beckoned Jack over, and the American did so, albeit with a curious smile. Good, that made two of them. “So,” she began quietly. “What made you join up with our boss? I did a little research on you, and no offence, but you seem a little too... patriotic for that kind of work,” she said.

Jack grinned. “You mean I seem like too much of a meathead,” he said.

“You said it, not me,” Sombra replied, her smile an attempt to keep the sudden surge of tension out of her voice. Deadlock agents had to be as much brain as they were brawn; her gut told her that while Jack might have left Deadlock, Deadlock's training hadn't quite left Jack. “Now stop evading the question,” she said, leaning a little to elbow Jack lightly in the upper arm.

Jack nodded lightly, and this time it was he who leaned in towards Sombra. He beckoned her to lean in herself, his eyes darting left and right. Sombra edged herself closer, wondering what it was he wanted to say; he'd certainly lost all traces of humour he had just moments before. Now there was nothing but a determined intensity in his glare, his lips set narrowly together, so tight they might have been a thin crack breaking the stone of his finely chiselled face, before they suddenly parted as he whispered, “No.”

And then the dark clouds on his expression broke, and with a wide, cheerfully toothy grin, Jack leaned back into an upright position. “See you back at the table, Olivia” he said, patting Sombra on the shoulder, right before he walked back off to the restaurant. His hands were in his pockets, and a merry tune whistled forth from his lips. For her part, Sombra was left gaping, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish's-

“Making new friends, I see?”

Sombra jumped again, and peered down the balcony. There, on a small ledge below her and dressed in a workman's uniform, was Hanzo, looking for all the world like one of the endless parade of civil workers keeping Zurich neat and tidy. In his case, he seemed to be a painter, keeping the wall below Sombra gleaming white. And the world was just beginning to make sense again.

“What in the hell are you doing down there?!” she whispered angrily. For his part, Hanzo just kept calmly painting. “Also, you missed a spot,” she added, pointing to a small tear in the middle of his overalls. It would have seemed that a large splotch of paint had spilled right on top of it, but Sombra had seen a small patch of red still showing under the white. Sombra idly wondered if Oversight would have to help Swiss police later.

“Thank you,” Hanzo said, nodding politely as he quickly and quietly painted over the red area. “As observant as ever,” he said.

“Oh, don't _you_ try to change the subject,” Sombra replied. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, actually,” he said, and Sombra detected a twinge of frustration- no, annoyance, in his voice. “How much access do you have to Oversight's databases?”

Sombra shrugged as surreptitiously as she could. “Not much, right now. I haven't been here long, as you should well know,” she said, giving Hanzo a pointed glare. “What do you want me to find?”

“Oh, I don't want to find anything,” Hanzo said, looking up at Sombra. “I just want to find you.”

There was a moment of silence while Sombra processed this information. “ _What?_ ”

* * * * *

Gerard speared a piece of fruit in the small box he held with a toothpick, and brought it to his mouth. His mother hated it when she saw her son not only getting food in a takeaway bag, but to eat that food on the go? How incredibly _gauche_. Gerard supposed some of the pleasure he felt at his little rebellion stemmed from that- scratch that, he _knew_ that was where part of it came from, he was a psychologist, after all- but that wasn't the whole story. That could be summed up as 'right now, Gerard Lacroix had fruit, this was a lovely afternoon, and he was going to damned well enjoy it as much as he could'. Not exactly Booker Prize material, but it was a true story, and that had to count for something.

The Oversight team was currently strolling through the streets of Zurich, and what a parade they must've seemed, Jack taking the lead, Gerard and Angela right at the back. That said, it wasn't the sight of the team members themselves that drew such curious stares; even Winston had been outside enough times for anyone outside tourists to stand and gawk, but that they were all out together. Thankfully, the curious stares had mostly died down, the team's casual clothes convincing the people that they were simply having a day off. Of course, that was tempered by the fact that some people were muttering about how their 'taxes were going to waste', but Gerard wasn't going to let them spoil his day.

Because right now, he was doing something he never knew he'd missed- taking a walk with his wife in the sun. He wondered how long it was since they'd done something like that? How many times had they done something so simple since they got married? He shook the question out of his mind; right now, all he could think of was the way the sun's light reflected off Angela's hair. It was so foolish, he couldn't help but snicker a little- he hadn't felt this way since he was a schoolboy, watching the way Mlle. Dupont looked coming into class every morning.

Seized by a sudden impulse, he placed his arm around Angela and drew her closer. “Gerard?” was all Angela managed before the arm Gerard had slipped around her popped a piece of fruit in her mouth. He couldn't help but laugh at the bemused smile she gave him in response. Of course, he couldn't just stop at that; maybe a German or an Englishman would have, but he was French, and when it came to the lips of those whom he loved, no true Frenchman would have stopped at merely feeding them.

So it was, just as Angela turned to Gerard, he leaned in for a kiss. It wasn't as passionate as Gerard would have liked, but sometimes decorum had to obeyed. “Gerard!” she said, laughing as she playfully pushed him away. “What was _that_ all about?”

“About?” Gerard asked. “Does a man need a reason to show his wife how much he loves her?” he said, right before holding up his right hand, the bag of fruit still in it. “I don't, if you must know- I swear!” he laughed, right before he saw the strange expression she wore as she turned away. “Angela? What's wrong?”

“What? Oh, it's nothing,” she said, waving him off with a cheery smile. Gerard wasn't fooled a bit, but it was a nice day, no sense ruining it, though he did make a mental note to ask his wife later. 

“All right, if you say so,” he said, and leaned into his wife a little more, feeling the blush come to his cheeks when she did the same. _God in heaven, I really am turning back into a schoolboy_ , he thought to himself. But then again, why shouldn't he be? “I think this is the first time in weeks I've actually seen the sun,” he said quietly to himself, but evidently not quiet enough.

“What are you talking about, Gerard?” Angela asked, smiling back. “You've been out now and then,” she said.

“Yes, yes,” Gerard said. “But I haven't really _looked_ at the sun, you know.”

“I would hope not,” Angela said dryly. “That would be a hard expense report to justify. 'Commander Reyes, my foolish husband stared at the sun and now he needs cybernetic eyes'.” She shook her head, a genuine smile replacing the false one she wore just a moment before. “I don't think I'd survive the glare he'd give me.”

“I don't know,” Gerard said, his voice alive with playful speculation. “With cybernetic eyes, I could perhaps qualify for the strike team! Now that would be something to see, don't you think? What do you think my agent name would be?” he said, spreading his free arm outward grandiosely.

Then he heard a small gasp from beside him, and he knew he'd made a mistake. “I... I don't think that would be a good idea,” Angela said softly as Gerard silently cursed at himself. She was still smiling at him, and it was still genuine- but now there was worry as well, and that too, was real.

“I'm sorry, Angela,” he said, equally softly. “I didn't mean to worry you,” he said.

“Thank you, Gerard,” Angela replied. She turned to look out over the balcony they were walking past, Lake Zurich gleaming distantly below, the Alps far beyond it. “Tell me, Gerard, do you.. do you ever worry about me? When I'm out there in the field?” she asked, her hand on the railing.

“Constantly,” he said. He stopped them there and then, turning her to face him. “But I know much better than to ask you to stay behind,” he said, kissing her again, this time pressing his lips tenderly to her forehead. “And honestly, if you were the sort of person to stay behind when there are people suffering, I doubt I would have fallen in love with you as much as I have- or in the first place, come to think of it.”

“Gerard, you don't have to-” Angela began, but Gerard shushed her, his finger on her lips.

“Forgive me, Angela,” Gerard said, smiling gently, “but I'll have to be a little chauvinistic at the moment.” He leaned closer to Angela, touching her forehead with his own. “I admit, I do get worried- who wouldn't? And every time I read your reports, I want to go over to Reyes's office and tell him to pull you out,” he said, then gestured to the rest of the team before turning back to her. “But as I said, that courage, that determination, those are what I love about you.” He brushed a stray hair from her forehead, as their gazes caught on each others'. “You're certainly a better person than I am.”

“I... I wouldn't say so, Gerard,” Angela said. Her gaze began to fall, but Gerard placed his hand under her chin, his meal long since finished, and lifted her head to face him.

“Well, I would- and as the team psychologist, I should know,” he said with a soft smile. “I know I haven't been on the best behaviour since we joined Oversight, and I know I might not have been the most attentive of husbands lately, but- well, things have been calming down, and I was thinking that maybe after all this...” he said, shrugging a little, “we could perhaps take a little more time off. Nothing very long; three, maybe four days around here, so if there's an emergency, we'll be close,” he said. “I mean, just look behind you,” he said. “Such beautiful sights, yet we've never really taken the time to fully appreciate them. Not together, at least.” He caught her gaze again. “So, Angela, what do you say? One extended weekend, just the two of us?”

Before Angela could reply, however, there was a wolf whistle to their side, and the Lacroixs turned to see the rest of the Oversight team looking at them with smiles on their faces. The whistler was, of course Lena, who was now clapping as she laughed. “Eat your heart out, Paris!” she called out in what she probably thought was the direction of France, and nudging Amélie in the ribs, the French woman wearing a strained smile as she watched Gerard and Angela. Gerard supposed he could understand. Lena's over-enthusiastic nudges aside, she hadn't really seen the city herself, and Gerard supposed that he and Angela had been holding up their little procession. 

Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he snapped his fingers. “I'm sorry, Angela,” he said, not feeling sorry in the least. “But I'm going continue being a chauvinist just a little longer,” he said, winking before turning back to Lena. “Agent Oxton? May I ask you for a favour?” he said, beckoning the other woman closer.

“Sorry, Gerard, but I'm just not interested in you that way,” Lena said, waggling her finger at Gerard as she walked up to them laughing all the way. “And I doubt your wife's interested in ladies, anyway,” she added, saluting Angela, who was now beginning to blush furiously. “Might want to ask Amélie though- you know how French people are,” she said, winking at Gerard, and seemingly ignoring the gasps from behind her.

“Agent Oxton, you _do_ realize the Hundred Years' War is over, right?” Gerard retorted dryly.

“Is there still an England and a France?”

“Yes.”

“Then nope!” Lena said. “Really though, you said you wanted a favour?”

“Indeed I did,” Gerard replied, turning back to his wife. “Angela, would you be so kind as to accompany Mlle. Oxton and the other ladies as they tour Zurich?” he asked. “After all, this is actually supposed to be Amélie's day, and as a confirmed chauvinist,” he said with an extravagant bow, “I wouldn't know the first thing about what a lady desires.”

“Gerard,” Angela said with a hint of exasperation, “I don't think that would be a good idea-”

“But I do!” Lena chirped. “Please, please _please_ , Angela!”

Angela looked at Lena, then looked at Gerard, and sighed. “You're not making this easy,” she said, in a way that put Gerard in mind of the way he'd behaved a few minutes before, that feeling that she might have been talking to herself more than she was to Gerard or Lena. Gerard hated to admit it, but his wife's annoyance did amuse him a little.

Though not as much as it amused Lieutenant Commander Morrison, evidently. His uproarious laughter, fit to rival even Reinhardt, rose above the noise of the busy Zurich street. His guffaws apparently annoyed Amélie to no end, as she shot the Lieutenant Commander a death glare. Not that her superior officer would have noticed, now that he was bent over, his hands n his knees.

 _Well_ , a bemused Gerard thought, as he watched the man he'd feared so much dissolve into a guffawing mess. _This is a good omen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but with the holidays coming up, work has been absolutely slamming me. Now that I've said that, on the off-chance that anyone is:  
> A: Working in a corporate environment, and  
> B: Outsources most of their writing work to independent writing agencies
> 
> Please don't wait until freakin' October and November to ask for Thanksgiving and Christmas copy, please? Or if you do, realize that if you want to make the holiday season at the last bloody minute, I or one of my mates will be constantly contacting you to make sure everything is up to spec on both our ends. In which case PLEASE DON'T COMPLAIN THAT WE'RE BOMBARDING YOUR INBOX OR CALLING ALL THE TIME. FOR FUCK'S SAKE, SOME OF YOU TURDBUCKETS START ADVERTISING AS EARLY AS OCTOBER, YOU CAN SEND US A GODDAMNED OUTLINE.
> 
> And yes, I know that AO3 isn't my personal blog, but ye gods I needed to vent. Sorry if I got any on you lot, you guys are cool. Unless you fall into the above category, in which case I wish the Seven Plagues of Egypt on your pockmarked arse, and pray they perform an encore once they're done.
> 
> Anyway, I hope to resume weekly (or at least semi-weekly) updates from now on. Thank you for your time!


	13. One Evening In Zurich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I hope the formatting near the end isn't too jarring.

Switzerland in the late 21st century was a paragon of order; even stereotypically staid nations like Germany or Belgium paled when compared to the stately majesty of Switzerland. This of course followed to the capital- it did not have London's need for security cameras around its streets, nor did have squads of heavily armed and armoured police on standby unlike Beijing or San Francisco. Of course, the presence of Oversight's headquarters helped, but all it really meant was that Zurich laboured day after day in a false sense of security. A little more preparation, a little more determination than usual, and anyone could exploit that for all it was worth. 

Little indiscretions began spreading through the city, tiny measures that would have otherwise gone unnoticed, or even encouraged by the powers that be- after all, a machine can't run properly unless its gears are a little slick. And it was the 21st century, after all- what's a little flexibility, eh? And so a form went unsigned here, a suspicious sighting went unreported there. A black plastic bag containing the body of a hapless city sanitation worker tossed into the back of a garbage truck. Routine maintenance of the city's communications network went on a little longer when a worker installed a little something extra into a server, an act which went unreported by another worker watching on the cameras.

As the sun slowly descended towards the horizon, all that was needed was for the last few pieces to fall into place.

* * * * *

Amélie was glad Gerard wasn't _her_ husband, otherwise she'd be stuck looking like how Angela did: torn between wanting to kill or kiss him, perhaps in some kind of order. That said, Amélie didn't think she felt very differently either. Maybe she'd kill Jack, though- it was one thing for him to lord his knowledge of Amélie's feelings over her. It was quite another for him to take so much joy in it; if she closed her eyes, she could still hear him laughing.

“Am I doing something wrong, miss?” a worried female voice asked through the darkness. “You seem to be tensing up.”

Amélie blinked her eyes open, and gave the worried masseuse a friendly smile. “I'm sorry,” she said as pleasantly as she could manage. “Work has been a little... hectic, lately.”

“Ah, I see,” the masseuse said, giving Amélie a relieved smile. “Don't worry. I understand. I saw clips of what happened in Dorado on the news,” she said, getting back to work. “For what it's worth, I think you and your squadmates did a very good job.”

Amélie only nodded politely in response, and tried her best to actually relax; she had to admit she could do with a little de-stressing. That being said, it wasn't easy- just ahead of her, Angela was getting the same treatment. She knew her attraction to Angela was just as physical as it was emotional, but what she didn't know until they stepped into the massage parlour was just strong that attraction was. Just watching Angela take off her jacket made Amélie's breath catch in her throat.

She buried her face in the towel her head was resting on. Part of her thought that her time at Oversight was definitely not worth it. It wasn't just the psychological torment of being so close to Angela and not able to do anything

_to her_

_with her_

about it, it was how Oversight seemed to be some kind of organizational monkey's paw- everything good that came to her, came with a twist. Most people would've been delighted to have been promoted, but most people's promotions came with an _increase_ in power and independence. And that made her supposed holiday, one spent with her teammates, a... trial, to say the least.

Amélie waited for sanity to reassert itself, for the thoughts running in her mind to make her believe in Oversight again. But try as she might, many of the justifications running through her mind seemed to ring hollow, especially now that she was getting used to her newfound skills. It had been a while since she'd thought about somehow making a break for it, but now she was wondering about making plans again.

And like before, she sighed inwardly because she knew she wasn't going anywhere, at least not now. Of course, there were the practical considerations. She wasn't exactly inconspicuous, her body had requirements that normal humans didn't have, and even if she didn't have those two problems, there was the question of defending herself if and when she was found after her escape. It wasn't as if Oversight would rely on regular police forces, after all, and she was sure that Jack would make sure she came back in a body bag.

But those weren't the main reasons she dismissed her thoughts of escape again. With another sigh, she brought her head back up again and looked at Angela. Her feelings for Angela were unhealthy, unethical, unprofessional- and utterly overwhelming. Not to mention irrational, of course- Amélie was no doctor, but she suspected her situation was uncomfortably similar to an abused spouse, unable to leave because of how she felt. Except she didn't even have the comfort of a relationship to fall back on.

She brought her head back up to look at Angela. The other woman studiously avoided Amélie's gaze, looking to her side, seemingly absorbed by the potted plant next to her. Amélie didn't really mind; it wasn't as if she couldn't understand. She swept her eyes to the other Oversight members in the spa. Ana had gone back soon after lunch, citing paperwork; despite Lena's own suspicions that Ana was just being antisocial, Amélie thought that their superior's reluctance was real. 

Sombra also declined the invitation to come along with the other ladies- though that might have had more to do with Jack clearing his throat behind her than any actual reluctance. As strange as it sounded, that reassured Amélie a little- Sombra might have witnessed Amélie and Angela's talk back in Dorado, and if Amélie knew Jack, he'd do his best to keep what he knew of Angela and Amélie under wraps. Of course, he'd only keep that secret in order to use it for his own purposes, but that was something Amélie would deal with when the time came.

A light snore and a frustrated sigh from Amélie's side told her that Lena had relaxed enough for all of them. Amélie felt a small smile tugging at the sides of her mouth; she felt that Lena might have enjoyed the day far more than any Oversight squad member not named Reinhardt. In front of Lena was Satya; despite her calm exterior, Amélie had caught enough split-second glances to see that she was curious about how Amélie and Angela would handle things, though not maliciously so. With that being said, Amélie had to admit she'd have been more comfortable with suspicion, or maybe even some degree of hostility, instead of the clinical assessment she felt Satya was giving her and Angela.

At least Satya wasn't the type to gossip, though, and Amélie let herself relax a little. It seemed that she had just closed her eyes when she had to open them again to see Angela looking down back at her. “I fell asleep,” Amélie stated.

“You fell asleep,” Angela replied, smiling and nodding as Amélie got off the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Angela averting her gaze slightly. Despite everything, Amélie couldn't help neither the slight warmth or little smile that came to her face. Angela didn't seem to notice, however, as she was thanking a very relieved masseuse for her own work.

“The others are waiting outside,” Angela added once she was done, helping a somewhat unsteady Amélie to her feet. Amélie nodded, and was about to give her thanks, but Angela was already walking out the door to the changing room. Amélie was... disappointed, but she could understand. Giving her own thanks to the masseuse, she too went to get dressed. 

“Righto, let's see...” Lena said once the rest of the ladies had made their way outside. “What shall we do next?”

“Return to base?” Satya said. “Don't mistake me, I am anything but tired,” she said, nodding towards the spa's entrance. “But I'd prefer to return to more familiar ground.”

“Aw, don't be like that, Satya!” Lena replied. “The day's barely over, and Amélie hasn't seen anything of Zurich yet!” She turned to Amélie. “You're a dancer, right? Well, I hear the Zurich Opera's got some ballet performances going on, though the Zurich Ballet's currently in Austria last I heard, and there's always the _Paradeplatz_ if you're more into street performance and all that.”

Amélie reflexively shuddered when Lena mentioned ballet dancing. It wasn't that she hated ballet, far from it- if anything, the dedication (and, she suspected, the deep-seated sense of masochism) possessed by ballet dancers intimidated her. She had been scouted for the stage, of course, but she'd always refused. “You said the _Paradeplatz_?” she asked, thoughts of the ballet out driven of her mind by actual curiosity. “I thought that was where Zurich's banks were located?”

Lena's eyebrows rose. “Bloody hell, you're really out of touch,” she said in an awed whisper, then giggled when Amélie goggled at her indignantly. “What? You are!”

Angela cleared her throat. “There were banks in the _Paradeplatz_ around 30 years ago, but when they finished construction of the third tier of the city, all the banks moved up here.” She considered a moment. “If... if we are going down that way, might we walk a little further south when we have the chance? The view of the _Zurichsee_ \- that's Lake Zurich, Lena- from there is absolutely wonderful.” She smiled a little. “It's a little strange to be homesick in the capital of one's home country, but there you go,” she said with a small, embarrassed smile.

That seemed to settle it. The four women made their way through the city, to the many rows of clear-roofed escalators that joined the various tiers of Zurich together. Walking the streets of Zurich's second tier, Amélie was impressed (and not a little intimidated) by how much of it was separated from the third tier solely by massive pillars of reinforced concrete. Row upon row of lights provided illumination for the residents of the tier, and at times Amélie could fancy she felt the thrum of the massive fusion generators below. 

Speaking of which, the citizens looked a lot more... well, fortunate than she expected for people literally living in the shadow of a sunlit surface. If Lena was to be believed, there were fears that the place would turn into a slum once the third tier was competed, but these soon proved to be unfounded. And so, the second tier of Zurich (colloquially known as _der Mittelstatdt_ ) soon became home to a literal middle class.

“You seem to know a lot about the city,” a bemused Amélie said, as they walked through the second tier's crowded streets.

Lena shrugged, giving Amélie an easy smile. “Eh, I read books,” she said, before nudging Angela in the side. “And besides, it's bloody boring in the labs! Then you get Angela talking about the place, and she can go on and on and on!” she added, laughing as Angela shook her head. But she was smiling too, so that was all right.

As they travelled through _Mittelstatdt_ 's rail network towards the escalators that led to the ground tier, Amélie noticed the stares and glances of the populace around them. Here and there, Amélie would hear snatches of conversation in both French and German, though the word 'Oversight' seemed to feature prominently in them. Most of the time, the mere mention of the word seemed to stop the curious glances directed at her (and more disturbingly, Satya at some times). And then-

“You're Oversight, yes?” came a deep voice at Amélie's side in slightly Eastern-European accented English. Amélie turned around, and found herself face-to-sternum with a giant. The woman standing before her was strangely-dressed in long, monkish robes, which clashed dramatically with her shock of short pink hair. Like the other Oversight agents, both Amélie and her new friend were standing, though Amélie would guess that the woman currently looking down on her (literally and figuratively) would have needed to stand even if the train had any free seats.

“Perhaps I am,” Amélie replied. “Or perhaps you've mistaken me for one of the many French women with blue skin in Zurich.”

The woman snorted. “I heard you're working with an omnic, that true?” she asked in a quieter voice.

“Zenyatta is a valued member of the team, yes,” Amélie said. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Lena and Angela edge closer.

The woman nodded. “Zenyatta...” she said, and despite her best efforts, Amélie could see a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Is that its name, then?” she said, but Amélie could see there wasn't any malice behind the other woman's choice of pronouns- despite her best efforts.

“That is his name, yes,” Amélie replied, and she wasn't surprised to see the flicker of recognition turn into one of approval. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lena catch her gaze, then gently nudge her head at the giant. In response, Amélie let the hand at her side rise a bit- _hold off. For now._

The giant noticed it though, and looked behind her, where Lena gave her a defiant glare. The giant then looked to Lena's side, where a quieter, yet equally staunch defiance was writ large across Angela's features. A hand on Amélie's shoulder drew her attention to Satya; the way the lighted areas of her cybernetics glowed just a little brighter might have seemed normal to the uninitiated, but Amélie knew better. 

As she did the giant's feelings at being surrounded.

They think they have me surrounded? Hmm... no, I really should not.

Amélie cleared her throat as the giant turned back to her with an amused smile. “So, is there anything you need?” she asked.

The giant shook her head. “No, no, I need nothing. I am simply making conversation while waiting for my stop,” she lied. “This omnic- he is your friend, yes?”

“Damned bloody right he's our friend,” Lena said from behind her, with a voice that was quiet and determined. “That all right with you, love?” she added with a devil-may-care smirk. Amélie had to admit, she admired Lena's courage, if not her intelligence. That said, if Amélie was worried anyone was in serious danger (honestly, Lena was probably more dangerous than any amount of muscle), she would have stepped in. Of course, the train's other passengers weren't quite as perceptive as she was, and out of the corner of her eye, Amélie could see some of them looking at the Oversight agents suspiciously.

Before she could speak, however, Angela beat her to it. “That's enough, Lena,” she said, placing a hand on Lena's shoulder. “I don't think Amélie's new friend means any harm,” she said, before giving the giant woman a warning look. “Am I right?” she asked.

The new arrival laughed. “Perhaps,” she smiled, “though I doubt that anyone as outnumbered as I am would say otherwise,” she laughed. “What do you think?”

Angela didn't reply at first, instead glancing over at Amélie. Part of Amélie was annoyed that she was being used as a lie detector, another was resigned to that fact, and not a small part was a little flattered that Angela trusted her enough to do so. In any case, she shook her head slightly, and the relief that she could see among her friends was almost solid. 

Even the new arrival seemed to relax a little. “I did not mean offence,” she said quietly. “I am from Siberia,” she said, and the Oversight agents winced in unison. “And as you can probably figure out, I have no hate for omnics,” she added with quiet firmness, and offered Lena a hand. “Aleksandra Zaryanova,” she said. “But you may call me Zarya,” she said. 

“Oxton,” Lena said, taking it. “Lena Oxton,” she added. “Listen-”

“I know about all of you,” she said, looking around. “And I will say that it is good that you think of Zenyatta as a friend,” she said. “Too few people are willing to do that for each other,” she said darkly, “much less omnics.” A loud ding drew everyone's attention. “It would seem I must leave soon,” she said, lying again and clearly not giving a damn about it. “Please, excuse me,” she said, bowing slightly as the doors opened. “It was good seeing you,” she said, giving them all a short salute as she stepped out. 

As Zarya walked away from the closing doors, Lena sighed and placed a hand on her forehead. “Well, that was soddin' embarrassing.”

“That could have gone better, yes, but we can't be held responsible for confusing a Siberian with a Russian,” Satya sighed as the train began moving again. “Curious, though- she seems to have known Zenyatta,” she said, looking back, towards the rapidly disappearing station.

“She was from Siberia, after all,” Amélie mused, still blushing a little; of course, she couldn't help but turn a little red (or in her case, a lighter shade of purple) after confusing a member of a conquered people with their conqueror. “And I doubt anyone ever made 'monk omnic' bodies,” she said, shrugging. “Perhaps it is possible she served alongside him in the Crisis?”

“For all we know,” Angela said, “they could have helped each other escape.” She shuddered. “I know I'd take any help I could to escape the Tsar's armies.”

Satya nodded. “We should ask him when we get back-”

“Right after we're done with the ground floor of this city,” Lena said. Judging by how red she was, she was still more than a little embarrassed. “I mean, if you still want to, Amélie,” she said, evidently remembering why she was there in the first place.

Thing was, so did Amélie. She might not be able to enjoy the day the way Lena wanted her to, but that was no reason to spoil her friend's fun. “Now, now, Lena, if you started running away from every little hardship, you'd never be able to enjoy a holiday- like the one we're supposed to be having,” she said. To Angela's evidently slight surprise, Amélie caught her gaze and nodded. “ _N'est ce pas_ , Angela?”

After a second, Angela nodded and smiled in return. “That's right,” she said, turning to Lena. “You of all people can't have forgotten why we're out here,” she said, patting Lena on the shoulder. “I don't intend to have my day ruined because of a single misunderstanding,” she said with a breezy cheer she might have actually begun to feel. Amélie certainly did, and it seemed Angela might have picked up on it, judging by the grateful glance she gave Amélie, and one which Amélie returned.

“Good, so it is settled then!” Amélie said. “We're not going to let anything or anyone else ruin the day for us,” she added, pretending not to see the wide smile making a home on Lena's expression. “Tomorrow though, that might be another story,” she said, grinning as Lena punched her playfully.

The trip down to the first tier was thankfully uneventful, at least as far as Amélie was concerned, which only made a relatively good day much better. Walking along the third tier's crowds, Amélie felt like she'd made the right choice in wanting to go on. Her eyes slid over the various tourist trap stalls and shops, and onto the art that lined them. The street art of lower Zurich was vibrant, colour splashed across the walls of homes and businesses alike, so different from the upper levels. It was a silly thing to get worked up about, Amélie had to admit, but her heart was willing to say what her mind was too embarrassed to. 

Of course, Amélie knew that her German wasn't the best, and her Swiss German was even worse- if there was anything... spicy in the words painted here and there across the first tier, she didn't know it. At the very least, she didn't see any actual malice in the body language of Zurich's artists. Mischief, yes, but that was just something else that reminded her of... of Paris.

Then there was the music, which seemed to help and not help at the same time. It was like every other street had someone playing something, from buskers playing the latest pop songs on worn guitars, to a quintet of extremely well-dressed men and women in full face masks playing classical music on well-maintained instruments. Satya seemed especially taken by them, and was quite interested to hear Lena gossip that not only did the 'band' play there regularly, but that they were secretly members of the Zurich Philharmonic honing their skills in front of the hardest crowds of all. Amélie raised an eyebrow when she saw the usually oh-so-serious Satya tapping her foot and swaying slightly to the music. 

But it wasn't until Amélie felt Angela tapping her on the shoulder that she felt so far, and yet so close to Paris. Looking away to where Angela was, Amélie felt her heart and breath catch in her throat. There, in the middle of the Paradeplatz, were street dancers doing their thing. Some moved with clearly classical agility, as smooth and elegant as the age-old music they danced to; others moved with mechanical precision as they kept up with the thumping bass of the new techno-synth wave that been sweeping through Zurich's club scene. Despite the hot late afternoon sun, the Paradeplatz was as cool as it was in the morning, thanks to a vast canopy of strengthened glass over the square, as well as the city's own construction directing air through the plaza.

Amélie turned to Angela, and for once, couldn't really read the expression the other woman gave her. Was she silently asking for forgiveness? Hoping that Amélie could find some small measure of happiness here? A raw desire to see Amélie as someone other than a soldier and a forbidden temptation? All of the above? Amélie didn't know, but there was no mistaking the soft smile Angela returned to her when Amélie nodded, and began walking over to a group of people in the centre of the large square. 

The small crowd there were obviously holding an unofficial dance contest between themselves, people popping in and out seemingly at random into the scrum in the middle. A hovering sphere played music, and seemed to shift tracks, even genres at random, as it spun in the air, holographic pictures and words orbiting it. One of people on the outside of the crowd, a young black man with his hair in long, neatly kept dreadlocks, turned around to speak to his friend- only for his eyes to bug out when he saw Amélie approach. “Oh man...” he said in American-accented English, his jaw dropping open. “Dudes! Dudes! We've got Oversight agents here!” he laughed.

Amélie couldn't help but laugh; the man was legitimately starstruck. She looked to her side and grinned at Angela. “Ah, forgive me, Angela, for I think I've blown our cover,” she said.

Angela laughed and shook her head. “I was never all that good at undercover work any-” she began, then stopped herself and turned away with a small cough. Amélie couldn't blame her- she was thinking pretty much the same thing as soon as Angela said it.

Thankfully, one of the street dancers decided to butt in. “Hey guys, turns out, that really _is_ what she said!” he said, guffawing loudly, and the various groans and reactions from his buddies managed to mask Angela and Amélie's own embarrassment when the noise drew Lena and Satya's attention.

The young man who'd first pointed out Amélie shrugged helplessly, giving her an apologetic smile which Amélie waved off- it wouldn't have been anything to get worked up about, and it covered up for Angela. She decided to change the subject. “This is a dance contest you are having?” she said, walking closer to and looking over the gathered group. 

“That's right,” the man replied, and his eyes narrowed as he caught the glint in Amélie's eye. “You thinking of joining in?”

“Perhaps,” Amélie replied mischievously. She turned around to her teammates. “Well, should I?”

In response, Lena let out an encouraging whoop, while Angela simply inclined her head and smiled at Amélie. Only Satya seemed to disagree, her eyes darting between Angela and Amélie for a moment. But once that moment had passed, she gave a small nod and moved slightly in front of Angela.

Amélie gave a nod in return, and stepped into the 'arena', the cheers of the crowd accompanying her. Around them, a few tourists and not ea few citizens had decided to watch as well. However, it wasn't until the young black man came in with her that the cheering turned into a roar. Even holding his hands up, it still took a few seconds for the cheering to die down, and Amélie couldn't help but smirk a little. “I see you are quite famous,” she said.

“Not really, but when you're as good as I am, you're gonna have fans,” he said, smirking right back as the crowd and Amélie's teammates (well, Lena) _'oooooh'_ d loudly. His expression softened as he went on, though. “Seriously though, before we start, I want to thank you- I knew some people in Dorado, and they told me how you saved all their butts.” He nodded slightly. “Thanks. I wish I could say more, but... thanks,” he said, extending his hand.

Amélie bowed a little as she shook it. “You don't have to say anything more,” she said.

The man smirked as he drew back after the handshake. “Sure thing,” he said. “Now, where were we? Oh yeah, you're about to get served.”

“You're not the first person to think that,” Amélie grinned. “And I assure you, you shall not be the last,” she said, then the music started.

For a few seconds, Amélie felt like she was going to have to eat her words. She always thought dancing was like riding a bicycle, that it was impossible to forget how, but for those few awkward moments where she flailed and stumbled, she thought she couldn't be further from the truth. With every move she made, her Oversight training-induced muscle memory interfered. She heard sniggers and saw smirks coming from the people surrounding her; it wasn't embarrassing in the least, but infuriating. She knew her new career would've made her rusty, but never by _this_ much.

With one clumsily executed twist that sent her sprawling on her back, she could see from her upside-down position that even her teammates weren't immune. Lena's expression could be best described as the unholy lovechild of a cringe and a grin, while her pitiful attempts at holding back her laughter marked her down for Amélie's payback later. Even Satya had turned away, her eyes clenched shut while she trembled with the effort of holding her own mirth in.

Angela was different, though. If she was holding anything back, it was the distress she was obviously feeling. Amélie closed her eyes, and sighed softly, the image of Angela's wide open, sky-blue eyes and the hand across her mouth etched in Amélie's mind. She heard her opponent taunting her, but his voice dulled in Amélie's mind compared to what she read in Angela's body language.

I didn't mean it to happen this way.

Amélie supposed that the reasonable option would have been to admit defeat and walk away gracefully. Then later, she would explain to Angela that she wasn't embarrassed, just annoyed. However, the look Angela gave... it made Amélie feel anything but reasonable.

Her eyes still closed, she took one last deep breath to steady herself- then her eyes opened in determination. She twisted her body, dance and military training combining to spin her upwards in one graceful motion. Maybe there was some reaction from the audience, but she didn't hear it, only the music. Her limbs moved with mechanical grace one moment, flowed like water the next moment. Even as the music started shifting unpredictably, Amélie had no difficulty adapting. She shifted from dancer to soldier and back again in the spaces between heartbeats, combining leg sweeps and lunges with more traditional breakdancing.

And right before the music stopped, she launched into a split, rising up as she brought her legs together, her mischievous smirk catching the gaze of her younger rival. “Hm,” she said, a little breathlessly as the music stopped. “I think I performed well, don't you think?” 

The man goggled at her for a moment, then burst into laughter, as did the rest of his friends. “Heck yeah, you did!” he said, holding out a hand again. “Man, if I knew you'd play dirty, making me think I actually had a chance back there...” he said, with mock ruefulness. “I'd have gone for it anyway! Man, did you learn that at Oversight? I might actually think of joining up, if it means I get to learn moves like that!”

“Unfortunately, they do not,” Amélie said, shaking his hand as she did before. “I used to dance a little, before I- before I joined,” she said. She was a little surprised- there was a pang of mental pain as she recalled just how she had come to 'join' Oversight, but it was not as strong as she had expected it to be. But as she looked to her side, past Lena whooping with triumphant excitement, past an openly impressed Satya, and to the relief she saw on Angela, she had a feeling she knew why she felt like that.

Turning back to the young man, she shrugged. “Besides, and I mean no offence, I don't think you would be good Oversight material,” she said, grinning as she continued. “For one, I have to start my day at five in the morning.”

“Whoa! Whoa! Don't talk about that kind of stuff in front of the kids, man!” her opponent said, holding up one hand and indicating his friends with the other, who responded with mock jeering. “Seriously, five?!” Amélie gave him a helpless shrug, neglecting to mention that waking at five was entirely her choice, and official morning roll call actually started at seven- and even then on weekdays. Probably still too early for her new friend, though.

“Ah, well, such is military life,” Amélie said, with what even she thought of as excessive sangfroid. “Honestly though, thank you for the dance,” she said. “I wish I could stay longer, but I and my colleagues still have so much more of Zurich to see.”

“Don't worry, it's cool, it's cool,” the man said, holding up his hands. “You girls have fun now, all right? 'Cos me and my buddies here sure will!” he said, turning back to his friends as they let out a massive cheer. As he waved them off, he called out to them. “I'm Lucio, by the way! If you ever want a rematch, we're gonna be here for a week!”

Amélie was about to reply, when Angela beat her to it. “We'll hold you to that!” she laughed, and for a brief moment, when she turned around, she took hold of Amélie's hand. She snatched it away immediately, of course, but neither of them could deny that it happened, and they shared a pair of sad smiles before turning their gazes resolutely forward, their other two teammates having missed it all.

* * * * *

Sombra walked through the halls of Oversight HQ, Lieutenant McCree at her side on escort duties. She didn't mind all that much; the man was pleasant on the eyes, and he knew the value of silence. Most importantly of all, of all the Oversight men Jack could have sent back to escort her, McCree was the ideal choice. That Dr. Lacroix might have sensed that Sombra was up to something... extracurricular, while Winston might have known enough about programming to see through what Sombra was about to to. And the less said about Zenyatta the better; she didn't know how good he was at programming, but she was certain he could speak binary better than she did.

Thankfully, Winston waved himself off escort duty; he'd taken out a small handheld device which he said 'helped monitor Specialist Oxton's equipment', and cited the need to stay within a reasonable distance in case anything went wrong. Zenyatta was curious about the city, and surprisingly trusting for an omnic in a human city. And as for Dr. Lacroix... Jack had been amiable enough with the Frenchman, but Sombra could sense that Jack had plans for the good doctor. And no matter how hot Jack was, in that older man kinda way, Sombra got the feeling she didn't want to be around when he dropped the hammer.

And so it was that Sombra found herself hacking into Oversight's own servers under orders. Not that she wasn't under slightly more expert surveillance, of course; somewhere in the base, at a location she shouldn't have been aware of seconds into the fake attack on the database, Oversight's own cybersecurity team was busy trying to stop her. That said, McCree stood next to her in case she tried anything a little more analogue.

In any case, as skilled as the cybersecurity team was, they were no match for Sombra. They were still stuck with tactile input, pressing their fingers to touchscreens, moving holographic panels around with their hands, turning their heads to look at readouts. Enough to stop hackers operating on their level, but Sombra took pride in not doing so. She knew that there were companies working on developing haptic interfaces, which would execute commands on a thought or with a gesture- Sombra wouldn't be anywhere the hacker she was if she hadn't stolen from quite a few of them, after all.

But she didn't just steal, she _improved_. Type at a thought? Snapping your fingers to bring up a screen? That was too slow for her then, and it was too slow for her now. Sombra had trained herself to hack on instinct, her mind's eye taking in information and acting upon it before her conscious mind knew the code existed. But here, with the power of Oversight's quantum computers at her beck and call, she felt like every nerve of hers was bathed in a warming fire's light- too close and she would sear herself, but right now, it felt warm, oh so warm-

“Sombra?” came a voice from a pit thousand miles below her. “Sombra, you all right, darlin'?”

“Don't call me that,” Sombra whispered dreamily. Her physical body was still and almost unmoving save for a single arm raised to chest level, from where thin holographic strands hung in the air, their glow a soft purple. But in her mind, she _felt_ the flow of data around her, like birds borne on a gentle breeze, and though the cybersecurity team tried their best, Sombra was just better. She not only fended off their relatively clumsy countermeasures, but on occasion, she managed to retrace their digital steps and launch assaults of her own- and that was only if she knew they had detected her efforts.

When they didn't...

It was a real feat of willpower for Sombra to remember just the real reasons she was in the system in the first place. First, was to place certain data blocks to make it easier for him to remain in contact with their mutual mysterious boss. And then there was the hidden personnel tracker Jack wanted. Those were all that she was supposed to do- but then there was the request from Hanzo, the one she didn't tell Jack about, and why would she? A girl needed to have her secrets, after all. 

Besides, it wasn't too much of a request- a specially encoded backdoor into the system, one leading into the personal terminal in Sombra's quarters, nothing else. If Hanzo didn't trust their employer, and needed a way to quickly contact the world's best hacker, who was Sombra to argue? He didn't want all that much access anyway, only a secure way to contact Sombra. Not even she could exploit a vulnerability that small- at least, not without server banks as powerful, as advanced as what Oversight had. Since Sombra took regular idle strolls in the Shimadas' networks when she worked for them, she knew perfectly well that what they did and didn't have- and they didn't have what it took to take down a system like Oversight's.

A few dozen dummy assaults to keep Oversight's team busy, and the deed was done. One little signal to Hanzo to signal that the connection was made, and some scrap code around the leak to make sure it was hard to detect and Sombra was done. She didn't do anything to make it hard to _close_ , of course- Oversight's team and the servers available to them were like a herd of rhinos with colds: terrible eyesight, no sense of smell, but nothing will stop whatever gets in their way. If and when they found the hole, Sombra would have hopefully found an excuse for it, or better yet, closed it up herself- right after giving herself another way in, of course.

Of course, Sombra wasn't one to stop at just hacking computers. She made a few basic personality forks of herself, rudimentary AIs that could be counted to act like she would for a few real-life seconds. In the digital world though, that gave Sombra more than enough time to take a virtual tour of the databases. It was easy at first- it seemed that Oversight's team had put far too much stock in their outer defences, to the point where there was literally nothing shielding the inner databases other than the most rudimentary of blocks and security measures. Perhaps that would have helped against conventional hacking methods and technologies, but since Sombra was turning Oversight's systems against themselves, they simply crumbled.

But once she broke through the last weak security barrier, Sombra found to her shock that raiding the databases was a feat far easier said than done. Sombra knew that the quantum bits in Oversight's systems were capable of processing and storing far more information than the silicon systems that Sombra was used to, but she thought she'd got their measure fighting off Oversight's security team.

She was wrong.

Plunging into the deeper layers of Oversight's databases, she found herself flooded in information. Forget the security systems, Sombra found herself fighting against the tide of information that was threatening to drown her. She was about to pull out, when she saw something in that ocean, one worth fighting wave after wave of irrelevant information threatening to drown her. She knew that with every moment, virtual or otherwise, her ability to resist being drawn in permanently, leaving her body a brain-dead shell, was decreasing. Still she fought off the wave of terror that she could feel in her gut, overwhelming it with her curiosity.

She knew that, plainly speaking, she spent a second, perhaps a fraction more, trying to get that data. She also knew that as still as her physical body had become, it wasn't due to her muscles relaxing. If anything, they were slowly tensing up, and Sombra redoubled her mental efforts. If her muscles tensed up to the point where the pain distracted her while she was still in the datastream... She pushed the thoughts down and her mind forward. All that mattered right now was the data, the data her virtual hand was now closing around-

With a deep breath, and an even deeper, stranger sense of reluctance, Sombra pulled herself away from the system, leaning back in her chair with a sigh of relief- and maybe even contentment, which surprised her. Slowly, the sights and sounds of her surroundings came into sharper focus. The soft thrum of multiple server banks working had filled the air, the quantum bits in each black tower containing more processing power than some governments. Bright white light blinded her for a moment as her brain readjusted to what her eyes had been seeing all along. A blue holoscreen hovered in mid-air in front of her, projected from a small 'desk' attached to the server room's floor. Sombra was faintly surprised to feel nothing but a dull ache in her limbs; she had been expecting muscle sprains all over.

Suddenly, something else popped up in her peripheral vision. “Sure looks like you could use one of these,” McCree said, a lone cigarette poking out of the small box he was holding next to her.

“ _Gracias, Tonto_ ,” Sombra replied, taking the cigarette and the lighter McCree offered.

“You're welc- 'Tonto'?” McCree said, then snorted. “All right, that's a good one,” he laughed. “Not the best, of course, but good enough.”

Sombra inclined her head slightly. “Are you talking about me or your 'experts'?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” Sombra quipped. “But I'm in a good mood, so I'll be nice,” she added, using the long drag she took as an excuse to not say anything else.

McCree nodded, pulling up a seat next to Sombra's. “Good thing you're on our side, eh?” he said, and it was all Sombra could do to not roll her eyes. She'd managed to pull up his file (all of Oversight's agents' files, in fact) while she was in the datastream; now that she had the time to process what she managed to learn, she wondered how to reconcile the man before her with the Deadlock agent she'd read about. Maybe he was just that much better at being a cowboy than fishing for information?

That said, he had a point- which surprised Sombra, and not just because he had a point in the first place. She hadn't been here very long, but she had already begun to feel more at home here than in all her years in the hellish underworld _ciudad perdida_. She might never be able to properly acclimatize herself to Switzerland's weather, or even how soft the beds and pillows were, but she could certainly get used to not making sure she sat with her back to an alley wall every time she ate. Nor was she going to take regular meals for granted. 

And most of all, she knew something that only Jack knew. She wondered how the other man would react when she revealed what she had managed to pull from the database. She wondered if she should make a list- after all, as long as she kept her demands modest, he could certainly indulge her.

Taking another long drag on the cigarette, she ran her gaze softly across the console she had been working at, her thoughts going from Jack to jacking the system. Terrifying though her experience had been, she'd got the measure of what she the beast in those servers. As long as she got to work in _that_ ocean of data now and then, she would make her home in a volcano if need be. Even now, she had to gently fight back the impulse to lose herself in the stream again, to swim in the ocean of information passing through Oversight's databanks.

There was a small laugh from beside her. “Not until you get permission from the LT,” McCree said, evidently reading her mind while wearing an easy grin. “Or I get a pack of the good stuff,” he said, grimacing as he tapped the cigarette packet.

“You do that, and the whole world is going to know what you sing in the shower,” Sombra said, smoke trailing lazily from the cigarette in her grinning mouth. She took it out and looked at the burning embers approvingly. “Tastes like home.”

“I'd hope so, darling,” McCree said, also smiling. “I've had to ship these in from El Paso- my paycheck's literally going up in smoke.”

“Sounds like your problem, not mine, _hombre_ ,” Sombra shot back- but she was smiling when she said it.

* * * * *

As the sun began setting behind the Alps, dark pinkish light colouring the world, the sound of Jack's mirth could be heard from the balcony table of one of Lower Zurich's many lakeside restaurants. He was laughing, making jokes, flirting shamelessly with the waitress and telling Gerard all kinds of stories, some made up, some barely true, all to hold his attention for a little longer. A steak sizzled in front of him, slick with juices and slathered in sauce, a feast that kings would envy.

It was all he could do to not scream in frustration.

Of course, he knew he didn't have anyone else to blame but himself. True, it wasn't as if his brilliant plan failed- indeed, as far as plans hastily thought up on the spur of the moment went, it had gone pretty well. He was certain keeping Gerard's attention for so long certainly deserved a commendation of some sort. And yet, Jack couldn't help but feel the sting of failure. After all he'd done, after all the schemes of his that had come to fruition, that a simple little exposure plot would fail like this was... galling, to say the least. 

Maybe it was the amount of work that he'd put into this flimsy plan. Sending Sombra back with McCree solved one problem, and Gabe decided to go back early to deal with work. Next came Sombra activating the hidden personnel tracker, giving him a simple feed to his ocular implants, letting him track Oversight's members without the cybersecurity team finding out. Of course, Sombra wouldn't be able to hide the link forever, and implemented a kill switch in it that would destroy the link and any trace of it in the system after a few hours, giving Jack a hard time limit on how long the feed could continue. 

Even so, Jack thought he'd had those few hours, especially once he managed to send Zenyatta and Winston out by themselves under the pretext that Winston could help Zenyatta and Zurich's citizens get used to each other. “Besides,” he told them, half-lying, “there's this place in Lower Zurich I've been meaning to check out, and I don't think either of you are into steaks.” And so after a few cheerful farewells, Jack found himself alone with Gerard, who still seemed a little intimidated by Jack, not that the Lieutenant-Commander minded at all.

Jack had been hoping that he'd have been able to catch Amélie and Angela in a compromising position in front of Gerard. No matter what happened, it would have left Gerard mentally compromised, and easier to manipulate. Part of Jack knew that he didn't really have to do that to the man; he was already scared enough of Jack, after all. Still, it would be nice to have some insurance, and if Jack had to admit it, he just wanted to see the man break a little. He was too soft, too idealistic, and if Amélie proved to be as hard a case as she was irritatingly starting to become, Jack would need someone else who could read people on his team. Gerard had too much academic training, and none of the field experience Jack respected, but he might do in a pinch. If push came to shove, Jack would just have to mould him later.

But none of that would happen if those damned girls kept refusing to cooperate. Jack had been following them as subtly as he could, Gerard in tow, and doing his best to distract Gerard while keeping track of where the girls were. It was a juggling act that Jack would've been proud to say he had carried off with skill and aplomb if he'd any measure of success. Instead, it was beginning to seem like he'd dragged his goddamned ass all over goddamned Zurich for goddamned nothing. As the small embedded display in the corner of his vision began flickering, he sighed.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant-Commander?” Gerard asked from across the table, where he was about to dig into his fish. That was another thing that annoyed Jack, much to his own surprise. Here they were, in one of Zurich's best steak places, and what did Gerard order? Fish and goddamn chips. Like a child. It was the perfect capstone to a frustrating day.

“Nothing, nothing,” Jack said, smiling. It took some effort, especially since the feed to his ocular implant cut off entirely. “Just enjoying the sight of my steak,” he said. At least _that_ had turned out just like he liked it.

* * * * *

Down below, Lena stretched backwards, yawning as she extended her arms upward. “Sorry, everyone,” she said. “But I'm bloody well knackered, and no mistake.”

Satya nodded in agreement. “I admit, I'm a little exhausted as well,” she said, then gave Amélie a small smile. “I wish I knew your secret.”

Amélie laughed. “Simple practice, Satya,” she said. “But in any case, we have been out long enough,” she said, stifling a yawn herself. “I wonder how far we are from the elevators-”

“Actually, I would like to see the Zurichsee,” Angela said suddenly. Amélie turned to Angela, but her response died in her throat when she saw the strange look in Angela's eyes. “Satya, Lena, why don't you two return first? I need to speak to Amélie in private about a few things,” she said. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, I hope you understand.”

Amélie was a little surprised by the lie, and judging by what she saw when she glanced behind to Lena and Satya, so was the latter. For her part, Lena only yawned again. “Sure thing, mum,” she said with an easy grin, before turning to Amélie. “Five gets you ten that your dance probably knocked an implant loose or something,” she added. “Don't worry, Amélie, I've had this sort of lecture from the doctor before, you'll breeze through it!” she said, giving Amélie a thumbs up.

Satya on the other hand, gave Angela a stern look. “Is this necessary?” she asked, to which Angela's only response was a firm nod. Her stern gaze turned from Angela to Amélie and back again, then turned around. “If you say so. Come then Lena, let's leave them to their discussion,” she said.

Amélie could see that Lena had obviously realized something was going on. Unfortunately for her curiosity, the only person she could turn to was Amélie, who gave Lena's inquisitive look nothing but a shrug. As Lena slumped in disappointment and exhaustion, Amélie turned around to follow Angela, not knowing whether the feeling in her gut was anticipation or dread.

* * * * *

“Oh, will you look at that!” Gerard said, looking at something behind Jack.

Jack looked up from the steak he'd let himself become lost in. He was actually a little irritated that Gerard would interrupt such a damned good steak, and he turned around, the curt remark he wanted to give cut off by his full mouth. Then he saw at what Gerard was looking at, and he almost choked at his good fortune.

“Perhaps we should invite them up here-” Gerard began, rising a little in his seat to wave, then Jack turned around so fast he saw the Frenchman visibly recoil. He was dimly aware of how hard he was staring, and he had to make a conscious effort to seem genial again.

“No, no, let them be,” he said with strained calmness, turning to look back down, where Amélie and Angela could be dimly seen on a railing overlooking the Zurichsee. Even knowing what he was looking at, it was still a little difficult to pick them out in the dimming sunset. The dim light darkened everyone's skin and hair, and the Zurich government didn't like to switch on the streets lights near the Zurichsee until the sun had almost disappeared under the horizon. 

After all, that would only ruin the romance.

* * * * *

The two women stood silent, watching over the dark waters of the Zurichsee, gleaming even in the dying light of the sun's embers.

“You frightened me back there, you know,” Angela said at last, leaning forward and resting on the railing. “At the dance.”

“I did not realize I was that good,” Amélie said, but there wasn't any humour in her voice.

Nor did it seem that Angela found any, or even heard the joke. “All this time, I've wondered- just how much of the Amélie who lived before, lives still? Gerard and I reviewed videos of you before- before the surgery. Before I started to see you as some _one_ , instead of some...” She looked down. “Some _thing_.” She sighed, looked down again, and broke into a small smile. “You almost fooled me, you know? When you leapt up and began dancing again, as if you planned to fall in the beginning?” She let out a small laugh. “Almost.”

Amélie edged herself closer, placing a hand on Angela's shoulder. “Angela-”

“Please, Amélie, let me finish,” Angela replied, turning to face Amélie with pleading eyes. She stood up then, and despite her slightly shaky voice, her bearing was steady, proud, strong. “I thought the woman you were had died then. That I had killed her, that I had taken away something from you that I could never replace.” Her voice was quiet, sad, and Amélie wanted to do anything and everything she could to change that. 

“You know, Amélie?” Angela continued. “I could have left at any time I wanted,” she said, turning to look at Amélie. “And there were times I did want to. Right after Lena announced that utterly _verrückter_ plan of hers for one, and again after the spa,” she said with a short laugh. Then she turned to Amélie. “But I didn't, because I did not want to lose sight of you.”

“Angela-” Amélie tried again, but Angela placed a finger on her lips, and her breath caught in her throat.

“I told you before, Amélie, I'm not very good at small talk,” she said softly. “And so I'll say it plainly.

I love my husband, Amélie- but I also love you.”

And there it was. Amélie felt her heart skip a beat, her knees weaken, to the point where she needed to keep a death grip on the railing to keep from falling.

It was impossible for Angela to miss. Her eyes opened wide; even in the dimming light of dusk, Amélie could see the moisture glistening in them as Angela gave her the happiest smile she had ever seen. “I knew it,” she whispered softly.

* * * * *

“I knew it,” Jack snarled triumphantly. There was a shocked gasp behind him, and he didn't care in the least.

* * * * *

“Angela,” Amélie began, steadying herself. “You misunderstand me,” she began. “It was- I was- You must understand, I was shocked. I mean, you shocked me when you said- when you...” she said, knowing just how implausible it sounded even to herself. “Angela,” she said, as the woman she loved came closer. “I told you, I see you as a friend, nothing more-”

“Liar,” Angela breathed as she leaned closer. Every cell in Amélie's brain screamed at her that this was a terrible idea. What if someone saw? What if word got back to the base? What if this interfered on the battle- well, interfered more than it already had on the battlefield? If she didn't draw back now, could she ever-

Then everything went white as Angela pressed her lips against hers. Amélie couldn't take it anymore; her knees buckled, and her grip on the railing loosened. Suddenly, she felt Angela's arms around her, catch her, hold her tight. It took what little strength Amélie had remaining to put her arms around Angela in return.

* * * * *

Metal clattered on ceramic behind Jack, along with the sound of wood scraping over stone, but like before, he couldn't give any less of a damn. Teeth gleamed in the restaurant's light as he broke into savage smile. The kind of smile a pride of lions would share as they cornered a screaming calf.

* * * * *

It took a moment for the world to come into focus after Amélie no longer felt Angela's lips on her own. Angela was looking down at her, the same gentle smile, the same sparkling eyes still holding Amélie's gaze. As she brought Amélie back up, Amélie hunched a little and risked looking around, wondering who else might be watching. To her surprise, nobody seemed to paying them any attention- it seemed that as far as everyone else was concerned, they were just another pair of lovers kissing in front of the Zurichsee. Perhaps a little more passionately than other did- but ah, such was the prerogative of youth.

She looked back at Angela, who laughed a little, a surprisingly girlish giggle that sent lightning down Amélie's spine. “I think that went better than expected, wouldn't you think?”

Amélie reached into her mind for a reply, but her mind seemed as blank now as it was before. So she did what the rest of her wanted to do, and kissed Angela again. It wasn't quite as electrifying as the first time was, but it didn't need to be. Besides, what it lacked in strength, Amélie made sure she made up in length, and she didn't so much as 'break the kiss' as 'come up for air'. As they parted, Amélie brushed a stray hair from Angela's forehead and smiled. “ _Ich leibe dich, mein schöner Engel,_ ” she whispered breathlessly, hoping against hope that her German wasn't as bad as she thought it was.

Angela laughed, and Amélie decided that as far as she was concerned, it didn't matter. “ _Et je t'aime, ma charmante tisseuse_ ,” Angela replied. This time it was Amélie's turn to laugh and decide it didn't really matter who could speak the other's language better.

It didn't last long, however, and she leaned forward to rest her forehead on Angela's with a sad smile. “We are such fools, Angela,” she sighed. “You do realize,” she said, pulling away and looking back down, “that this will never work?”

“Perhaps, but neither will keeping what I feel to myself,” Angela replied. She gently lay her head in the nook of Amélie's neck. “Don't mistake me, Amélie. I... I know that this will not end well if we go on like this,” she whispered. “But for now... just for now,” she said, looking back up at Amélie. “Let us just have each other.”

Amélie couldn't help the smile that slowly came to her. “A reasonable proposal,” she said dryly. “How could I possibly refuse?”

“I don't know,” Angela said, returning her smile. “But just in case...”

She kissed Amélie again, and all dark thoughts of the future dissipated, lost in the warmth of Angela's touch. They turned away to look at the dark lake before them, leaning into each other. Right now, they had each other, and that was all they needed.

* * * * *

Jack leaned forwards again. “Well,” he said as he turned around. “That was a hell of a thing, wasn't-”

He didn't know non-augmented humans could move that fast. Hell, he'd never seen any augmented humans move so fast either. Gerard's hand was at his throat before he could say anything else. “You son of a bitch,” Gerard hissed. “You filthy son of a bitch!” he hissed, his hand tightening around Jack's throat. “How long have you known?! Tell me, damn you!” he said, apparently too angry to even raise his voice.

Jack clasped one of his hands around Gerard's wrist, and squeezed. He had to admit, he was impressed by how Gerard reacted- though the pain made his hand reflexively unclench from Jack's throat, the man never averted his furious gaze from Jack. “What are you talking about? I've just found out, same as you,” he said, but even had he wanted to cover up the lie, his mocking grin would've told Gerard everything he wanted to know.

And a little more, by the looks of it. “You... you wanted this to happen,” Gerard breathed, his eyes goggling wide open, and Jack's eyebrows shot up in surprise as well, which Gerard apparently took as a sign that he was right. “Lijiang, Dorado... you wanted this to happen, didn't you? You utter bastard,” he said, still in that astonished tone of voice. “Let me guess,” he said, going back to his snarl. “Perhaps you wanted to turn me against my wife? Or Amélie? Why, I wonder? Did they spurn your repulsive advances? Maybe you have higher goals in mind?” he shook his head angrily. “It doesn't matter, because I refuse to dance to your tune.”

“E-excuse me?”

The two men looked up to see a frightened-looking woman in managerial uniform looking at them trembling slightly while she did so. “P-pardon me, sirs, b-but I must ask you to l-leave,” she said, with what little authority she could muster. “You are d-disturbing the other guests,” she said, and she was right. The fear on the nearby patrons' faces was obvious.

“No need,” Gerard snarled, giving Jack one last glance walking away. “I am done here.”

As he pushed his way past the maitre'd, Jack sighed with a slightly disappointed expression. That could've gone better, at least by his lights. He did want Gerard destabilized and off his game, but what he didn't want was the man using his own damned brain cells and leap to conclusions Jack didn't want. Sure, he probably thought of Jack as some kind of master manipulator now, but that could prove dangerous. If this inspired him to dig a little more, maybe get Sombra on his side... Jack placed his hand on his forehead. His plan had apparently worked a little too well, and now he had to deal with the consequences. 

The scared maitre'd leaned over next to him. “Are you all right, sir? Should I have security detain the man who assaulted you?”

Jack shook his head. “Let him go,” he said. “It's my fault- went a little overboard with my jokes and all, you know how it is,” he said with the most heartfelt laugh he could fake. It certainly seemed to have the proper effect, with relieved laughter coming from the maitre'd and several nearby guests. “Don't worry, I'll pay his share,” he added. “Oh, and bring an extra beer, would you?”

Because right now, he could do with a drink.

* * * * *

It was much later at night (or, to be more precise, very early in the morning) that Gerard finally returned to Oversight base. The guards at the gate nearly didn't recognize him, and why would they? Normally, Gerard took great pains to look, if not good, then certainly presentable. Of course the guards wouldn't recognize the dishevelled drunkard staggering up to the security gates. Only after a few seconds spent fumbling for 9and with) his ID, did the guards let him in, with one sympathetic guard helping carry Gerard to his quarters.

No, not 'his' quarters. 'Their' quarters. His and Angela's.

Chasing the guard off, Gerard stumbled his way into the bedroom- and froze. There on the bed, sleeping peacefully, was his wife. She was wearing a tank top, and Gerard knew from experience, a pair of long trousers. The ensemble was comfortable enough to sleep in, yet loose and decent enough so that if she was called in for an emergency late at night, she could proceed from her quarters straight to surgery without appearing immodest.

Gerard looked to his side, to where the kitchen was. The kitchen with its many, many knives and sharp implements. He stood there for a few seconds while his impulses warred within him. He shuffled away from the kitchen and to the bed, where he knelt next to his sleeping wife.

“Why?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “Don't you love me anymore?” he said, shaking his head as the tears came. “What did I do?”

But even as the words left his lips, the memories cut through his alcohol-addled mind with painful clarity. Was it not him who decided that Amélie should be put to the knife? That her potential would have been wasted if her life was merely saved? Was it not he who let Jack interfere with Amélie's psychological training? And when Jack needed someone to 'evaluate' Amélie, he picked Gerard. He didn't need to, Gerard knew, he did it so Gerard could see what he was moulding Amélie into. And Gerard let him... because Gerard Lacroix was a coward, a damnable coward.

He stroked his wife's cheek gently as he smiled sadly at her. Angela, as beautiful within as she was without. She agreed to operate on Amélie because she wanted to save more lives than Amélie was supposed to take. And when that didn't work, she donned a combat suit to fight herself. And Amélie- she could have shattered under the weight of the surgery and then her 'psychological training', yet she didn't. Instead, she had to all accounts embraced her new life, if not with gusto, then with courage and honour. Like Angela, she had decided to put her life on the line for the good of all.

It was cliché to say that opposites attracted, and inaccurate too- Gerard knew that. He and his wife were similar in so many ways... but Gerard knew that he was not a brave man. Certainly not to the point that Angela and Amélie were.

How could they not fall in love with each other?

“Forgive me, _ma cherie_ ,” he whispered. “I was not good enough for you.”

Angela shifted in her sleep. “Don't say that, Gerard,” she mumbled softly, and Gerard's heart skipped a beat. “I do love you.”

“I know,” Gerard whispered sadly as his wife dropped back into deep sleep. “You have so much love for us all, sinner and- and _Spinne_ alike,” he said, grinning sadly at his own German joke. “I just wish it was divided in my favour.”

And with that, Gerard slumped down on the ground next to his bed. His tears were still wet as he passed into oblivion as well.


	14. Oversight - The Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, and sorry this hasn't quite ended yet. I'd originally planned for this and the epilogue to be an extra-long single chapter, but I thought this was going on long enough. Besides, I think the story would flow a little better this way. Don't worry, the epilogue wouldn't be quite so long, nor would it take so long to write (fingers crossed).
> 
> Also, I have no idea how this chapter got reposted several times. Hopefully you're reading this after I corrected the error, derp.

Aleksandra 'Zarya' Zaryanova breathed deeply, calming her soul and focusing her mind the way the Shambali monks had taught her. The corridors and passages deep in the centre of Lower Zurich, from whence the power and industry of the city above and around came from, were dark, smoky and steam-filled. The thrum of machinery surrounded her, but without the hustle and bustle of humanity to accompany it, the sound dull, eerie even. The people who planned Zurich's expansion and elevation might have been proud for making such a self-contained system, requiring minimal maintenance, but as far as Zarya was concerned, all they did was bury machinery like they did a corpse. It was certainly just a little more lively, that was for sure.

She took her hand off both the Shambali amulet and Orthodox cross she had been holding, and hoisted her heavy gun. The weight felt physically comforting; it was her soul that was weighed down. It did not feel right to commit the crime of smuggling such a weapon into a peaceful nation like Switzerland, even if it was for a good cause. 

Once again, she wondered if it was right to not even try to contact Tekharta Zenyatta or the police, and like before, she shook the thought from her mind. Zenyatta had his own duties, and she hers; she didn't want to draw him into her troubles, as she did all those years ago in the exodus from Russia. As for the police, the last thing Zarya wanted was to incite anti-omnic fears; she wished that she could have spent more time in Zurich to gauge the feelings of the populace, but time wasn't kind. Better to be safe than sorry- if she bit off something too big to chew (or however the expression went), she would simply escape and then notify the authorities.

Yeah, it'd be that easy for sure.

Zarya reminded herself that she willingly took such burdens on herself to help the Shambali, and kept the pangs of conscience at bay by also reminding herself why she was there: of the frantic, coded distress calls sent by a devout omnic to the monastery, warning of an imminent strike on important targets somewhere in Zurich. The claim seemed too outrageous to be true; that elements of the Japanese underworld had joined forces with omnic radicals to strike at Zurich. The city hall, the Oversight building, the police headquarters- all were due to be attacked. When or how, Zarya could not tell, and that was what really bothered her. 

Omnics were not really all that different from humans, Zarya knew that. They could be persuaded, cajoled, and while the Shambali monks disapproved of such actions (especially when done in their name), bribed or threatened. However, nothing Zarya did turned up anything, which told her it was likely that the conspirators were either so subtle, they could easily avoid the eyes and ears of everyone who could have seen them, or that they had so much support in Zurich that they didn't need to be. Then there were another two possibilities: that there was no conspiracy, and the Shambali had essentially been the victims of a disrespectful joke from a fellow omnic- or they had been played, and they had been distracted from something, whatever it was. Those too, carried their own worrying implications. 

There was a clattering noise behind her, and Zarya spun around with speed born of reflex and training. She peered through the smoke and steam, blinking away the sweat dripping from her eyebrows. She saw movement at the bottom of her vision, and held back a snort when she saw a rat running over the pipe it had knocked down. Zarya breathed a sigh of relief- then quickly spun around again, and came face to face with a shape emerging from the steam and the smoke. Which turned out to be a slightly larger cloud of steam and smoke. Zarya wiped her brow, smiling a little; she had certainly been spending too much time with Tekharta Pemba and his horror movie collection-

“You were right the first time,” growled a figure looming up from the fog just above the pipe the rat knocked down, right before it lashed out at Zarya in a storm of claws and grinding teeth. Fighting for her life, Zarya barely noticed the explosion a few minutes later, which sent bits of dust and masonry raining down on her and her opponent.

* * * * *

“That sounds nice,” Lena said. “What's the song?”

“Hm?” Amélie asked, her mouth full of egg. She had checked her implants' status early that morning, and since they were all still in the green, she felt she might as well indulge herself with an actual breakfast.

“That song you're humming.”

She hadn't even noticed she was doing it when she woke up that morning. It was only when Lena sat down in front of her at breakfast in the Oversight cafeteria and asked her that Amélie realized what she was doing. “I... I'm not sure,” Amélie said, trying to hide her surprise. “I wasn't aware I was doing it, in fact.”

“Well, it's nice,” Lena said. As usual, her plate had a surprisingly small amount of food on it, around half of what Amélie had on hers. Lena always said that it was all it took to fill her up, which Amélie thought was possible; Lena was a very slight woman, after all. What she didn't think was possible was how Lena managed to stay so energetic on so little fuel. Then again, Amélie was not one to speak, having subsisted thus far on nutrient injections. “You know what? You ought to record that,” Lena said through her mouth half-full with egg, pointing at Amélie with a fork. “I'll run it through the databases, see if I can't find a match or summat.”

“Maybe I'll do so later,” Amélie lied. Not out of malice though, she really couldn't remember a single note of what she was humming. “Now, what was it you really wanted to ask me?”

She looked around her then, and Amélie sighed. Even if Lena's body language wasn't practically screaming at her, the mischievous smirk she had said more than enough. “So, you seem to be in quite the good mood...” she whispered, leaning towards Amélie. Despite her best efforts at remaining nonchalant, maybe even slightly disapproving. Amélie couldn't stop the corners of her mouth turning up a little, and Lena had definitely noticed. “What happened last night?” she asked.

This time it was Amélie's turn to look around her; she remembered how she did so the evening before, and she felt herself blush a little. When she was satisfied, she leaned forward as well and met Lena's gaze head-on. “Can you keep a secret, Lena?”

Lena's eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Bloody hell, you- I mean, of course I can!” she said in an excited whisper.

Amélie looked around again; the delicate material she was dealing with deserved nothing less then the greatest of caution. She leaned forward even more, to the point where she was almost lying on the table. “So can I,” she whispered.

And then she sat down and resumed her breakfast while Lena goggled, utterly still save for her mouth opening and closing like that of a goldfish. “All right, fine!” she sat down, pouting. “I'll ask Doctor Ziegler about your little night out, how about that?”

“And I wish you the best of luck, _mon écureuil_ ,” Amélie said, grinning. She also wanted to tell Lena that she had the feeling Angela wasn't the sort to kiss and tell either, but prudence won out. Instead, she just stuck with the facts. “We simply discussed the status of my new cybernetics, and we had dinner to see if they were still working after several hours.” She took another bite of her omelette. “Since everything seemed to be working perfectly, she decided to come back early, and leave me to explore Zurich.”

She watched Lena slump back slightly, pouting all the while. She could obviously tell that Amélie wasn't telling the whole story, and it was equally obvious that it was eating her from the inside, which was what made it so much fun. Amélie returned her gaze coolly; after all, everything she said was the truth, albeit technically so- and 'technically correct' was, as they said, the best kind of correct. They did have dinner, Angela did do a cursory check of the circuitry, and she did come back to HQ before Amélie did, which Lena could confirm if she looked at the security logs.

Of course, the logs wouldn't reveal the long walk they had along Zurich's streets after their dinner, nor the calm melancholy in their voices as they discussed what the future might hold. They both knew they couldn't keep the affair going forever after all, and it did hurt a little to hear that Angela had decided to slow things down after their kiss, though Amélie couldn't deny she had her reasons. 

_”Please, schätzli, don't misunderstand me,” Angela had said to her as they walked through the streets of Zurich. Though they weren't holding hands (the brightly-lit Zurich streets making it painfully obvious who they were), they were standing so close that Amélie could easily hear Angela's quiet near-whisper. “I cannot simply leave Gerard. There are of course, our work obligations,” she said, growing stern for a moment, before returning to warmth as she went on. “But he is also a good man, and I do care for him- my decision will hurt him,” she said quietly. “But I'll be damned if I make him suffer,” she said, looking up at Amélie, looking for understanding._

_When Amélie nodded, she sighed with relief. “_ T'inquiéte pas _, I suppose I can wait,” Amélie said shrugged slightly at Angela, hoping the ease in her voice managed to cover the fact that she was lying._

 _“Thank you,” Angela replied. “Gerard and I have been married for five years,” she said softly, looking into the distance. “It is the least I can do.” There was a hint of steel in her voice as she went on. “It is the least I_ must _do. I owe him that much at the very least,” she said, her tone becoming firmer, more determined with every word. “And I do not intend to do my least.”_

_There was a question rising in Amélie's throat. She didn't want to ask it, but she had to be sure. At the very least, she wanted Angela to be sure, regardless of what it would mean for her. “Angela... five years is not a small commitment,” she said, the words as ashen in her mouth as they were in Dorado, when she asked Angela to think of her as a friend. “Are you sure you want this?”_

_Angela gave a short, sad laugh then, mirth mingling with regret in Amélie's ears. “Yes, I am sure, Amélie,” she said, giving Amélie a warm smile. “More sure than I have ever been of many things.” Though her smile remained, it became a curious one as she focused on Amélie. “Why are you so afraid? In Dorado, you tried to chase me off,” she said. “Why?”_

_Amélie looked away. “Tell me, Angela,” she said, equally softly. “Am I wrong to be afraid? What if what I have is some kind of Stockholm Syndrome?” she asked, remembering Jack's words to her back in their little 'training exercise'. “Or what if what you- what you feel is some kind of guilt?” she asked, instantly regretting the words that she was vomiting forth. She sighed. “I'm sorry, this was a bad-” she said. She was about to turn away, when she felt a firm hand on her shoulder._

_“Amélie,” Angela said, looking Amélie directly in the eye, all traces of humour gone from her features, replaced by an intense gaze. “Put yourself in my shoes,” she said. “See through my eyes- I know nobody else can do it as well as you can,” she said. “Do that, then tell me at least... how do I feel?” she asked, her voice growing softer with every syllable._

_Amélie lost herself in memories- of the first time she saw Angela in the Valkyrie suit, of being carried in her arms in Lijiang, and of every hard-fought moment in Dorado. She lost herself in the present as well, in the sight of the blue eyes that had caught her own. Not for very long though, as she found herself wiping a tear from one of her eyes. “You... you do...” she said, astonished._

_Angela nodded slowly, releasing her grip on Amélie's shoulder. “I do,” Angela said. “I'll admit, maybe you're right,” she said as she began walking again, Amélie following dumbly in tow. “I will admit, there was perhaps there was some guilt, some pity in the beginning- but not anymore,” she said, then leaned to Amélie, her lips so tantalizingly close. “_ Ich liebe dich _, Amélie,” she said, the warm smile returning. “And I think you feel somewhat similarly towards me as well, don't you?” she asked, a hint of uncertainty beneath her amused tones._

_Amélie blinked for a moment, then broke into a short laugh herself once realization hit her. “...I do,” she said with a small smile of her own._

“...and all that,” Lena was saying, “is what I'll do if you don't give me some kind of juicy goss to bore Winston with,” she said triumphantly, jabbing her empty bowl at Amélie.

“I wasn't listening, sorry,” Amélie said nonchalantly as she cut another slice of omelette with her fork. Well, it was the truth.

Lena's jaw dropped open. “You're joking,” she said. “You're sodding kidding me! I spend all that time coming up with the most inventive threats I can come up with, and you weren't even listening?”

“Nope,” Amélie said, grinning impishly at Lena as she chewed her food. “Perhaps you can repeat what you said?”

Now Lena had added a glare to her pout. “...just you wait, Frenchie,” she said in a low, threatening tone, jabbing a finger at Amélie all the while. “Just you wait. Not only am I going to wring Angela out for the details of what happened last night-”

 _And good luck with that_ , Amélie thought, her smile growing smugger with the thought.

“-but I'm going to have my revenge for this day,” Lena went on. “Just you wait. You'll be walking around one day, minding your own business, when suddenly, boom!”

Then suddenly, boom.

* * * * *

Angela pursed her lips as she looked at the forms in her 'IN' tray. Her day had barely begun, and there was already paperwork to deal with. Angela sighed; she'd planned to pop into her office, confirm that she had nothing to do, then head to the labs and take a look at the chronal anchors before the day's training. Bad enough that her husband apparently had such a good time the night before he'd slumped into a drunken sleep right next to their bed (which she gently helped him into), now she had bureaucracy to deal with. Depending on what it was about, she might have to look at the accelerator in the afternoon, which would mean that she and Lena would have to miss lunch.

It wasn't all that much, thankfully. Just a request from Commander Reyes asking Angela for her opinions about several companies bidding for the right to supply Oversight's cybernetic needs. Routine stuff, made even more so by the fact that as soon as Angela had seen the name Sarif Industries on one of the contract tenders she'd already made up her mind. Sarif's reliability and durability more than made up for their high initial costs, as far as Angela was concerned. Better than the cheap, disposable trash Tai Yong Medical made, or whatever overclocked, overambitious devices CREO put out. Their latest neural link designs were notoriously vulnerable to electrical surges, and Angela had no idea how such a dangerous flaw in such essential equipment got past CREO's designers, nor how the company bounced back from the scandal, and where they found the gall to submit such a proposal.

That said, making up her mind so quickly made it easy for her to immediately get down to business and write up a recommendation. Accounting (and by extension, Director Petras) might blow their lid over the initial costs, but last Angela checked, Oversight was in the business of saving lives. If they put their own lives at undue risk for the sake of money, then as far as Angela was concerned that was defeating the purpose.

As Angela was typing out her formal recommendation letter though, the rote action made easy for her mind to wander back to the evening before. She wondered if Amélie could tell just how nervous she was right before she made her move, or how strangely relieved she was to hear Amélie make a silly joke to appear unruffled. Then there was the way Amélie almost fell when Angela pushed through the words she had wanted to say for so long.

And of course, the kiss.

Angela felt she would never be able to fully articulate just what kind of impulse made her take Amélie into her arms and kiss her, not that she thought she'd ever have a need to do so. Nor would she ever be able to explain how she not only managed to keep standing, but hold up Amélie at the same time. Some mysteries, like the Abominable Snowman, Atlantis, and Robert Redford becoming President back in the late 20th century would just have to remain hidden from the eyes of history-

Angela hissed through her teeth. Her eyes had evidently picked up on what her brain had missed, and she quickly deleted all mentions of snowmen and showbiz presidents from the letter. Clicking her tongue in resigned frustration, she looked through the rest of the letter, and winced as she deleted a few comments (and in one case, an entire sentence) that... weren't related to the tender, but related to tenderness, to say the least. It had happened before in her college days- sometimes, when she'd had too little sleep and too much coffee she'd simply let herself type on autopilot. The results and consequences were pretty much similar then as they were now.

As she scanned the offending document, looking for anything else that might incriminate her, her eyes strayed from the edge of the screen to a framed photograph next to her computer. She picked it up, and smiled sadly as she looked at the man and woman in that picture. Gerard had been born in the westernmost reaches of France, in sight of the Pyrenees, and the honeymoon they spent in the Alps seemed to reinvigorate him. Angela still remembered the days they spent skiing and talking with other guests of the lodge they stayed in, and the passionate nights they spent in the mountain range's shadow.

Angela sighed, the sad smile remaining as she gently ran a fingertip over the man in the photo. Despite her words to Amélie the night before, a small part of her still wondered just how sincerely she felt for the other woman. Perhaps her conscience would have been clearer had Gerard been a worse husband, but he wasn't. Their marriage hadn't been the whirlwind of passion one often seen in stories, but it hadn't needed to be. Perhaps an impartial observer would have been able to condemn him for his plans for Amélie- but if so, Angela would have been equally to blame for actually carrying out his plans. She certainly deserved worse than Amélie's forgiveness or love (it still astonished Angela that she was able to say that), that was for sure.

“I'm so sorry, Gerard,” she whispered, taking the photograph, kissing it lightly, then pressing it to her heart. She wished things were different, but when did just wishing for something actually do anything? She would have to play the hand she was dealt; all she could hope for was that the two of them could remain, if not as friends, then at least as amiable acquaintances. Unconsciously, her lips thinned as she decided that if worst came to worst, she would try to deflect as much of Gerard's wrath on her. If there was an innocent here, it was Amélie, and she would do her damnedest to keep her from-

Suddenly she jumped as she heard a knocking at her doors. “Come in,” she said as she quickly mailed her corrected recommendation letter to Commander Reyes, and resigned herself to not having lunch that day.

To her surprise, Zenyatta poked his head through the door. “May I have a moment of your time, Doctor?” he asked as he entered the room, a thermos and mug in hand. “If it is not too much trouble, I mean.”

“No, no, it's all right,” Angela said, bemused. “Is there something I should know about?” she asked as Zenyatta sat down in front of her.

Zenyatta chuckled. “I should ask you that question,” he said. “Weren't we supposed to meet about optimizing our support capabilities? I seem to recall something about 'synergistic operations'?”

Angela's eyes goggled. “Wait, that was today?” she asked, looking down at her calendar. “ _Verdammt_ ,” she sighed as she put the calender back down. “Sorry, Zenyatta, I had completely forgot!” she said, rubbing her head. She had scheduled a meeting between the two of them and Torbjorn to see if there were any improvements to be made to their equipment or training. Angela for one certainly had ideas about reverse-engineering Zenyatta's energy-dampening orbs and incorporating that ability into her staff, maybe even change it so she could boost the energy output of her teammates' weapons and the like.

“It's all right,” Zenyatta said, shaking his head gently as he placed the thermos and mug on the table. “Torbjorn had called me earlier to cancel the appointment, in fact. It seems that there are some odd rumblings in the power systems under the base, and he's taken a team to take a look,” he said. There was a slight note of hesitation in his voice as he went on. “There is something I did want to speak to you about in private, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Oh dear, I hope it's nothing serious,” Angela said,when a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Oh, that reminds me, Zenyatta, I had been meaning to ask you something as well,” she said. “Do you know a woman named...” She wracked her memories, annoyed that she'd forgotten the name. “Forgive me, I've forgotten her name,” Angela said sheepishly. “She's a large woman, maybe with pink hair...?”

“Zarya?” Zenyatta asked, surprised. “Aleksandra Zaryanova? You know her?”

Angela nodded. “I, Amélie and the rest met her on the train yesterday,” she said, then chuckled. “She didn't make a very good first impression, and neither did we, I have to admit. Poor Lena thought she was prejudiced against omnics, and we nearly got into a fight there on the train!” she laughed. “When we found out she was from Siberia, we were so embarrassed!”

Zenyatta nodded. “I can imagine,” he said with his own second-hand embarrassment colouring his words. “Yes, I do know her, quite well- she was one of the refugees my unit helped escape the Russians right after the Crisis. Once we settled in Nepal, she was one of the few humans who decided to stay.” He stroked his chin, apparently deep in thought for a moment. “I wonder why I haven't heard from her?”

“The two of you are close, I take it?”

“Somewhat,” Zenyatta said, then let out an electronic sigh after another moments' thought. “I am probably worrying over nothing, though,” he said. “It wouldn't be the last time she has left for some time to enjoy the bustle of a city, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.” He let out a short laugh. “I wonder if she wants to join Oversight?”

Angela nodded appreciatively; anyone who could probably arm-wrestle Reinhardt (and Angela wouldn't want to bet anything on the outcome of that match) would certainly be welcome. “I hope so, we could certainly use a little more help around here,” she said, before sitting up a little straighter. “So, you wanted to see me about something. Zenyatta?”

Zenyatta nodded. “Yes, and I hope it doesn't leave this room.” He hesitated a moment. “At least, more than it already has.”

“What do you mean?” Something in his voice made Angela's blood run a little colder.

Before he replied, he gestured for Angela to avail herself of the thermos and mug. As she poured herself some tea, Zenyatta began properly. “I don't sleep, but I usually spend the early morning hours meditating in the garden. It was there that I overheard Specialist Vaswani and the Lieutenant-Commander discussing... certain matters.”

The mug stopped right before it touched Angela's lips, the steam brushing against the tip of her nose. “And... what matters were these?”

“It seems that Lieutenant-Commander Morrison is convinced that your relationship with Specialist Guillard is... moving in an inappropriate direction,” Zenyatta said. “And despite Miss Vaswani doing her best, I believe her lack of sleep and annoyance at being awoken so early might have not convinced him otherwise.”

“What I and Amélie decide to do in our private lives is none of his business!” Angela said with an indignant hiss right before she downed the mug of tea in one gulp. The herbal mixture managed to soothe her just in time for her to realize what she had just admitted in front of Zenyatta. “You said this wouldn't leave this room?” _Any more than it has?_ , she repeated in her mind, though a moments' thought made her realize that among Oversight's agent corps, the odds were that everyone save Gerard, Commander Reyes, Winston and possibly Lena knew.

“I will not say anything, I promise,” Zenyatta replied. “If it helps, I want you to know that regardless of what path you decide to take, I will be here if you need any help.” He raised a hand, as if to say something else, then lowered it.

“Thank you, Zenyatta,” Angela said, her voice heavy with sincerity and determination. She didn't know what Jack knew about them, or how he knew, but she was going to do her best to find out. That said, there were two urgent matters to take care of first. “I have to admit, this is very embarrassing,” she said, walking over to her coffee maker. The herbal tea might have been great for soothing her, but right now she needed some coffee to think straight. She gave Zenyatta a sheepish smile as she bent back down to take out her coffee jar; she must've been more rattled than she thought if she forgot _that_. “Part of me wishes the earth would just swallow me up-”

* * * * *

A thin energy field cleaned the front of Genji's visor, but here in the central depths of Zurich's core, where the city's utilities supplied its needy population, there was so much smog and steam that any clarity was short-lived at best. That said, Genji couldn't help but pity his brother- after all, Genji had the comfort of a cybernetic body constantly monitoring his vital signs. Various internal cooling systems and supply networks ensured that he remained comfortable.

On the other hand, Hanzo was making do with nothing but long trousers and a tight ponytail. Even so, he somehow appeared far more regal and serene despite the harsher conditions he was undoubtedly enduring. Genji recalled times when outside observers wondered why, despite being the more physically imposing brother, Genji willingly played second fiddle to Hanzo. Genji wished he could show them the way his brother looked at that very moment.

“Is something wrong, Genji?” Hanzo asked, and Genji shook his head.

“Just nervous, bro,” he said, but between hearing the familiar syllables of home and his brother's presence, Genji felt his worries dissipate a little. If Hanzo wasn't worried, then Genji saw no reason to be either. “Where is that guy?” he asked, looking around. “Oh man, if I messed anything up, I'm sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his head and giving his brother a sheepish grin. Not that Hanzo would see it behind Genji's helmet, of course, but old habits and all that.

Though the smile Hanzo returned was a gentle one, Genji knew that was because if he'd got anything wrong, the shame would be his, and that hurt a lot more than any amount of lectures from his brother. Once again, Genji pulled up the message he'd received an hour earlier, which _was_ an hour earlier, because the message had a time stamp. It contained nothing more than a set of directions and the text: “Get ready.”

Genji grumbled to himself. He and his brother _had_ readied themselves. They _had_ followed the directions they were given which led to them clambering out the windows of their comfortable hotel to embark on a merry journey through Zurich's underbelly. They _had_ made it to the point where the directions ended, and Genji assumed there would be someone to meet them. Instead, they had spent almost ten minutes in this hot, noisy hell, and if Genji had his way he'd have called things off by n-

“There,” Hanzo said, pointing into the smoke. Genji couldn't see anything, but a fraction of a second after he looked where his brother had been pointing, his visor outlined a shape moving in the fog. “You took your time,” Hanzo said, reverting back to English. The slight note of irritation in his voice was the only sign that the environment was starting to get to him.

“Had to confirm we weren't followed,” the omnic said. It had shed the servant's clothes it had worn when it first met Genji in favour of a flak jacket and heavy battle rifle, similar to the ones wielded by the mercenaries back in Dorado. 

“Were we?” Hanzo and Genji asked at the same time.

The omnic shook its head. “I thought we were, but it turns out it was just one person,” it said. As if on cue, there was a loud, metallic screech, and the sound of a heavy weapon being fired. “Follow me,” it said, the only acknowledgement of the battle happening somewhere else in the depths being the omnic raising its voice slightly. “My compliments to your agent, by the way,” it said, as it led the two Yakuza through the industrial catacombs. “We managed to download a lot of information from Oversight's databases before security shut us down.”

“How very good for you,” Hanzo said dryly. “I'll assume that that counts as upholding our part of the bargain?”

“You have no idea,” the omnic said, and Genji could hear the triumph in its voice. “We have information on Oversight facilities in Europe, the Americas and Russia- no time for Asia, unfortunately,” it said, the triumph subsiding a little before returning as it resumed. “We also know about their future operations against us, what they know of our vulnerabilities, and even the traitors among our people,” it said with savage, almost-human fury. It turned to the Shimadas. “Considering how much we've gotten, it almost seems like we're cheating you. Are you sure you don't want anything more specific than causing massive destruction?”

It was all Genji could do not to snort in derision. There were better, more elegant ways to fish for information, and this idiot didn't even bring a fishing rod. Of course, Genji knew he couldn't really do any better, which was why he left that kind of thing to his brother. “It does, doesn't it?” Hanzo told the omnic. “Consider it a favour,” he added, before adding with a small smile. “Or more precisely, an investment. Besides, you did say you didn't manage to access their Asia databases, after all...”

The omnic nodded slowly, and Genji had to stop himself again, this time from giving his brother an impressed whistle. Genji would've settled for just fobbing the omnic off with something like a “Whatever, we've got our reasons,” or something like that. Count on Hanzo to not only put a stop to any inconvenient questions, but also try to tie them closer to the Shimadas.

Too bad that wasn't the plan.

As they turned a corner into a larger room, Genji slowed down as he was overcome by a sense of impressed astonishment. The chamber they had been led to seemed to fit a cathedral better than a city's literal underworld. All that space, of course, meant it could fit more occupants- such as the literal omnic army that filled the place, and stretched forth into the fog-covered forest of pipes and wires around them. Suddenly, there was movement out the corner of his eye, and Genji's indicator went crazy with identifier signals. 

Genji's hand quickly moved to the sword at his side. Outlines flickered in his indicator; between their vast numbers and the smog playing hell with his helmet's sensors, he couldn't get an accurate assessment of just how many machines were in there. Those in the back were humanoid, while the majority of omnics in the chamber were much larger, ranging from eight-foot tall bipedal walkers, to four-legged monstrosities the size of vehicles.

“You've certainly got the manpower,” Hanzo said appreciatively, but then a note of concern entered his voice as he went on. “Will they be able to perform, though? I recognize city worker uniforms among them- you would have us trust an army of janitors and street sweepers?”

The omnic waved a hand dismissively. “They won't be a problem,” it said. “Do you remember the Worker's Row Uprising? I and some of our kin managed to escape Oversight,” it said, its tones darkening. “Once we set up here, we began... spreading the word,” it said, nodding at the assembled army. “They will be doing their parts in other sections of the city.”

“It seems your fell on fertile ground,” Hanzo asked, looking at the omnic army that had assembled. “I did not know that there were so many who agreed to this. I don't mean to make light of what you may have endured here,” he said with all apparent sincerity, “but Zurich does not seem like it would be a hotbed of revolutionary activity.”

“There was some resistance, of course,” the omnic said, its voice darkening. “Many thought it was wrong to use violence, and of those who did, most balked at violence against civilians,” it said, shaking its head. “They couldn't, or didn't want to see that we can only win by sapping the will of our enemies- and that means striking them where they think they are safest. Thankfully, it meant that our consciences were clear when we... took a more proactive approach to shaping the views of community leaders,” it said darkly as it led the two humans to the omnics, all of which saluted the Shimadas' guide in unison. It was at that moment Genji noticed just how unified their movements were.

“ _Hooooh!_ ” Genji exclaimed. “Let me guess let me guess let me guess! You overwrote them with your combat data, yes?” he asked, his head bobbing.

The omnic sounded quite impressed as it responded. “Why... yes! Yes, that is what we did. Necessity over ethics, I'm sure you understand,” it said, then turned to Hanzo as Genji cheered triumphantly. “Your brother is quite perceptive.”

“Of course,” Hanzo said proudly, patting Genji on the back. “He is my brother, and a Shimada besides,” he said with brotherly affection. “Now,” he said, all business once more as he turned back to the omnic. “Have all preparations been made?”

The omnic nodded. “We spent a little time redirecting their security forces away from their communications hubs,” it said, taking out what looked like a small commpad and typing in a code. “Which means that the time... is... right...” it said slowly as it keyed in one final number.

* * * * *

Gerard was, to put it plainly, not in the best of moods.

Not only had he awoken with a pounding headache, but he forced himself to pretend to still be asleep when Angela gently lifted him into their bed. He'd have honestly felt better if she had just tossed him into it, but she took the time and effort to do so with care, and that hurt him more than he thought it would. Part of him felt bad for deceiving her like that, another part felt that it was the least he could do, considering the way she deceived him first, but the one thing both parts agreed on was that they needed coffee.

And so of course he'd walk into his office to find that new woman- what was her name again? Sombra, that's right- pouring herself a coffee from his own stock. Considering the evening and night before, why should that surprise him? It was, after everything was considered and done, the perfect end to a terrible 24 hours, and perhaps the perfect beginning to another terrible day.

“Why are you here, Specialist?” he groaned, walking over to the coffee maker and pushing her aside. Of course she'd take his favourite mug.

Sombra, as expected, was merciless. “Well, somebody enjoyed themselves last night,” she said, and Gerard couldn't help but laugh a little. Evidently taking it for good cheer, she went on. “You do know that coffee after a hangover's bad for you, right?”

“Yes,” Gerard said, pausing for a moment. Angela had told him that too. “You didn't answer my question,” he said, pouring himself a large mug of coffee, and placing the maker back in its cupboard. Deep inside, he knew it was a spiteful decision- Angela had bought it for him, therefore it had to go back inside. It was petty, it was spiteful, and it was something he couldn't bring himself to care about at the moment. “You didn't answer my question, Specialist.”

“Jack needs your psychological evaluation of me before I can get my security clearance upgraded,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Apparently I've been walking around the base with a guest's clearance, and now Gabriel's yelling at him for letting me poke around the databases.” She took an indignant sip of Gerard's coffee. “You'd think _el Jefe Morrisón_ would have settled that as soon as I came in, but noooo- Gerard?”

“Jack needs this, Jack needs that- Jack needs a boot in his face,” Gerard muttered under his breath.

“Oho!” Sombra said mischievously, leaning in and grinning widely. “Seems like last evening was not so nice, eh? Maybe we can reverse things today, and you can do the talking-” Not even Gerard was prepared by how quickly he wheeled upon Sombra, nor how angry he must have looked to her, considering how she went from annoying to cowering in the space of a second. “Hey, hey, hey, I was only joking!” she said hastily. “No need to blow up at me!”

Gerard was about to respond when everything blew up at him, or so it seemed. The power outlet next to him exploded in a shower of sparks, melted plastic and concrete shards, and the same went with the lights above him, showering him and Sombra in glass shards. The computer at his desk detonated in an even more spectacular fashion- as he got up from the ground, bleeding from what seemed like a thousand shallow, stinging cuts, Gerard still found the time to shudder a little at the thought of what might have happened had he been sitting behind his desk-

“Angela!” he cried out, the cold terror running through his spine sobering him up instantly. “We have to go get Angela!” he said, standing up, then immediately turning around. “Wait- Sombra! Are you all right?”

“ _Si_ , thanks for asking,” she groaned as Gerard helped her up. “What was that?”

“I have no idea,” Gerard said, as the rest of the world came into focus, and the sounds coming from outside his doors began filtering in. Screams, explosions, a rumbling that he could feel in his bones- and most frightening of all, gunfire. “But it may be bigger than I thought.”

“Very drama...tic,” Sombra said, as the outside world slowly came through to her in the same, gradual way that it hit Gerard. _Madré de Dios_ , what is happening out there?” she asked. Gerard shook his head, though whether that was because he didn't know, or whether he was shocked at how bad Sombra looked and wondering if he looked the same, not even he could answer. That said, considering that he had to wipe the blood dripping in front of his eyes just then, he didn't really want an answer to the second question.

He stumbled over to his desk and with a shaky hand, hastily jerked one of the drawers open. Inside was an automatic pistol; like all Oversight's employees, Gerard had been issued with the same energy pistols that Zurich's police force was equipped with. Gerard had even been one of the few non-combat personnel to have taken occasional advantage of the shooting range. But now, as he held the pistol in his trembling hands, he wondered if-

“Give that to me!” Sombra said, glaring at him. When Gerard hesitated, she rolled her eyes. “Just look at yourself, _puto_ \- you're shaking like you're in an earthquake. I'd like to not get shot just because you cannot aim straight.” Then, to Gerard's surprise, she gave him an easy grin. “Don't worry, I won't kill you- after all,” she said, and her smile became a mocking one. “As long as you're around, anyone attacking the place will have two targets to shoot.”

As heartless as the logic was, “I can't deny that,” Gerard said, sliding the gun over to the other end where Sombra caught it expertly. She lifted the pistol, testing its weight. Her grip was a damned sight steadier than Gerard's, that was for sure. He also noted just how, if not relaxed, then calmer she became after taking the gun.

“All right,” she said, her tones and pose more confident now. “It's not what I'm used to, but it can put holes in people, and that's all that counts. So here's the plan,” she said, glaring at Gerard again as she said that last word, challenging him to object. Gerard simply held his hands up- she was obviously more at home in chaos like this than he was, and he wasn't about to gainsay the experts. Evidently satisfied, Sombra went on. “You get behind me while I hack the door open, she said, gesturing to a sparking panel next to it. “It should still be good, since it didn't explode all that much,” she added breezily. 

“What if it doesn't open?” Gerard asked, falling in line behind her. 

“Then we wait until we are rescued or killed,” she said in those same casual tones. “Ready?” she asked, extending her hand to the panel. “Okay then! _Vamo-_ ”

The door smashed open, a cloud of debris being pulled in with the inward rush of air. From the cloud, a small sphere was thrown in. Gerard froze, and his breath caught in his throat, but Sombra more than made up for his inaction. Her hand swung at the grenade with lightning speed, and the hacking charge meant for the door was directed at it instead. It sparked and sputtered a bit- and nothing more. Gerard was about to sigh with relief, but he got no further than drawing his breath before Sombra jammed her hand over his mouth.

There was a moment of relative silence, where all that was heard were the sounds of combat and destruction outside. Then, a whirring of servos, and a storm of gunfire detonated the grenade. Gerard groaned in terror as the shots hit and the grenade flashed like a miniature sun in the room. But when the blinding light had gone away and his sight returned, he and Sombra were still alive and intact.

“ _Bueno,_ ” Sombra said, finally stepping outside. Gerard followed her, and to his astonishment, he saw two omnics twitching on the ground, sparking and smoking from their joint. “That was an energy grenade,” Sombra said. “The blast would have fried us, but left the omnics standing. Too bad it can be so easily recalibrated for anti-omnic use, eh?” she said, looking down at one of the omnics, now futilely trying to raise its weapon at Sombra. She pointed Gerard's pistol at its head and pulled the trigger- to no effect. “That's right- energy pistol, I forgot,” she said, shaking her head. She brought her foot down on the struggling omnic's wrist, severing it and its wholly analogue submachine gun. “ _Gracias,_ ” she said with a sweet smile and a malicious whisper as she prised the weapon free of its ex-owner's fingers, then proceeded to execute the two omnics with short bursts to their heads.

Gerard found himself involuntarily stepping back with each burst. _My God, Angela... is this what you face on your missions? Is this what you_ do? _How do you stand it? How can anyone? How can anyone stand it and keep their san-_

Then it hit him. “Amélie,” he whispered. _I see... I see now,_ he thought with a sad smile.

“Eh? Did you say something, Doctor?” Sombra asked, turning around. “Aha!” she said, grinning, having caught Gerard's smile before he could hide it. “Someone's getting a taste for killing, hm?”

Gerard shook his head. “No, not at all, thank God,” he said. “Just... just figured something out,” he said. “It's of no matter.” His eyes focused, and his voice became firmer. “We have to get to Oversight Central Control,” he said. “Hopefully we can find the command staff there, re-establish communications, or at least find out what is going on. It should have backups for all its own systems and power sources, so hopefully, they should still be running.”

Sombra raised an eyebrow. “Impressive,” she said. “How do you know this?”

“I don't,” Gerard said quickly. “It's just a hunch I have. A poor basis for a plan, but I'd like to think it has some merit,” he said, looking her directly in the eye. “Unless you have a better idea?” he asked.

Sombra blinked at him for a few moments, then laughed. “Nope! Lead on, _jefe!_ ”

* * * * *

Jack leapt up from behind the broken stone bench and pulled the trigger. Another omnic went down, light shining through the three holes punched cleanly through its torso. The sun shone in through the shattered glass ceiling above them, while torn leaves and flowers fluttered in the wind. Oversight's gardens had turned into a battleground, the soil churned from rocket impacts, grenade explosions and the countless bullets fired into them.

However, Jack felt the fallen omnics strewn all over the place made a fine replacement for the shattered stone paths, at least. “Just like old times, eh Gabe?” he said, smiling widely at the man standing several feet away.

“You said it, Jack!” Gabriel replied, before blowing the smoke from his trademarked dual shotgun setup. Jack always wondered how Gabriel did it- other men wouldn't have lasted ten seconds rushing headlong into battle with two sawn-off, semiautomatic shotguns before being turned into a fine red mist, but Gabe made it work. “Times like these, I wonder why I took that desk job,” he said with a happy sigh.

 _Same here, Gabe,_ Jack thought, not that he could say it out loud. “Maybe you're going soft in your old age,” he said instead, then turned around. “What do you boys and girls think?”

The astonished security guards who had been following the two veterans, and who were now slowly emerging from the rubble and hall corners they had been taking cover behind, could only gape like goldfish stuck on land at first. “I... I wouldn't say that, sir,” one young man said, grinning nervously.

“They obviously know who signs their paychecks,” Jack quipped, to general laughter. He, Gabe and the majority of the security staff had received an emergency summons to the lobby earlier that morning. While the meeting started off with grumbling complaints from the guards who'd just gotten off their shifts and those who weren't due until the evening, it soon turned into gut-twisting fear when nobody could quite explain who had called them there. The guards said that they had been summoned via emergency signal on their personal comms, while Gabe, Ana, McCree and Jack pointed their fingers at each other.

Then the explosions started, both within Oversight HQ, and outside in Zurich.

Now they had several squads running interference, with Ana and McCree leading their own small detachments into the city, while Jack and Gabe led a small 5-man fireteam to Central Control to try figure out what the hell was going on. The fact that there had been nothing from that room despite all its backups was discouraging, to say the least. Best-case scenario, the techs and comms officers there had been lured out as the attack began. That said, the worst case scenario was never far from their minds.

So instead of dwelling on that, they remained on the offensive, marching through the shattered halls and unloading on every non-Oversight omnic they could see. “Hey, Jack!” Gabriel called out as they fought through what had once been Accounting, the walls lined with bullet holes and bloodstains where they hadn't been blown or (in the case of metal panelling) melted apart, revealing wrecked electronics and torn wires behind their facades. His tones were casual, as if they weren't ducked behind fallen rubble, hiding from a hail of red-hot rivets coming from what seemed to be repurposed construction omnics. “No offence, but you don't seem to be taking this too badly.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack replied, ducking out briefly to send a storm of rockets into the ceiling above their assailants. The masonry came crashing down, showering the omnics in dust and brick. “It's like riding a bike, you never quite forget it,” he said, and from the knowing smile on Gabe's face, he knew he'd fooled his old friend. It wasn't as if he lying anyway; he did love the thrill of combat, even if the guards now pouring fire into the disoriented omnic dampened his enthusiasm by taking the whole damned thing so seriously.

Thing was, it was almost all Jack could do to not burst into laughter with every shattered pillar, with every sputtering panel, and as heartless as he knew it made him sound, with every corpse in an Oversight uniform they had to step over. After all, surviving this would certainly lead to increased resources and scope for Oversight, Jack would make sure of that. He'd worried about how he;d be able to persuade Gabe to go along with those plans, but now that this attack had occurred, Gabe would have no choice to agree.

The thought that Gabe wouldn't agree to it... Jack made sure to strangle those thoughts in their infancy every time time crossed his mind.

Jack shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Looking behind him, he saw the guards look a little worse for wear. One of them was checking her ammo stocks and wincing. “Sir, should we detour to another security checkpoint?” she asked. It was a good question; while the HQ did have a central armoury, Oversight did have small checkpoints here and there with weapons and ammo. Not enough to fuel an insurrection, of course, but enough to ensure that any defensive positions their occupants might need to take would have the supplies they'd need to last until reinforcements came.

Then again, Jack doubted the building's planners would've anticipated the kind of strike they had just endured. He was about to deny the request- after all, if they managed to take Central, they might be able to coordinate the troops they had better, and so not need to re-arm. He glanced at Gabe, his determined look saying it all.

Gabe shook his head and held up a hand, nudging his head slightly to the troops. Jack sighed inwardly while Gabriel spoke to the soldier who spoke. “Don't worry, we will,” he said. “I need a refill myself, and there should be a point a short ways down,” he added. He walked over as he was saying this, and pat her on the shoulder. “Look, I know all of you are tired and scared, and I'm probably pushing you harder than you ever trained for...” 

Jack rolled his eyes inwardly. He liked Gabe, he really did, and he'd take a bullet for his friend, no problem. But damn, was he trying to make a heroic speech now? Here, in the middle of a wrecked office? True, the guards looked a little worse for wear, but they were trained for incident like this. At least there didn't seem to be any threats in the immediate area, so Jack took the opportunity to stretch a bit, while trying to look like he wasn't.

He looked around at the guards as he went on. “But I know you guys can get through this, because you're Oversight! You're the best we've got, which means you're the best there is! You see me and Jack there?” he said, thumbing behind him. “We're walking on Easy Street. Uncle Sam paid for us to be modded up our asses,” he said, slapping his own rump to general mirth, “and gave us the best guns he could afford. But you guys? I know for a damned fact that each of you busted your asses in your militaries to get here!”

For his part, Jack began looking around, doing a wide-area scan with his Mk.I Standard-Issue Eyeballs. He had to admit, now that he'd had time to catch his breath, he could understand why the guards looked so banged-up. He was feeling a little tired himself, and while his enhanced physique didn't need much sleep, it did mean that whenever he did miss some sleep as he did today, he felt it a little more than a regular human would have-

Jack blinked, his eyes catching something in the rubble he'd brought down on the omnics.

“You didn't just qualify for the Marines or the Revolutionary Guard,” Gabe was saying, “you qualified for Oversight! You worked your way up here, and that makes you bigger badasses than either of your bosses!” 

_the rubble moved_

“So once we get to that checkpoint and pick up some ammo-”

_a puff of smoke, not debris_

“-we're going to kick ass all the way to CC-”

_something arcing at them_

“-and when we get out-”

_too fast to shoot_

_no time to warn them_

“-we'll be heroes!”

_plink right between Gabe's legs_

Jack felt no pain, but there was a glaring flash of light that seemed to sear his eyeballs. The sound of an explosion roared its way into his ears like a tidal wave, causing his ears to be filled with a ringing that drowned out everything else, and a shockwave of force slammed its way into him. But though he was staggered, he wasn't downed, his enhanced senses adapting quickly to the disorientation, just in time for him to see the omnic that wanted to kill them all- a ramshackle monowheel, with two 'arms' extending forth from the centre- one ending in a large calibre pistol, the other in what looked like a grenade launcher. Even through his blurred vision, Jack could see several thin beams of red light shoot out from an emitter under the gun's barrel.

It was too late to think, only act. Jack grabbed Gabe by the back of his neck, and leapt for the nearest cover, an overturned metal table. Gabriel could only let out a strangled “No!” right before a series of gunshots rang out in the flickering light. Jack himself felt a bullet fly right past him, so close the heat of its passage singed the hair on the back of his head. As he and Gabe hit the floor, so did the bodies of the five guards who were with them, the hapless soldiers not even having the time to scream.

Jack immediately went into a roll, bringing his battle rifle up as he rose. The flash of his rifle's muzzle mixed in with the offices' dying lights, every volley of rockets sending clouds of paper, furniture and masonry into the air. Adding to the din was Jack's own tortured screaming, fuelled by rage and bloodlust, rising above even the staccato crackle of his rifle and the steady semi-automatic thudding of the monowheel's own pistol.

In short, it made for one hell of a fine distraction.

Jack didn't see Gabe move, and he didn't expect to; sometimes, it was like the guy could move through walls. Jack certainly couldn't recall any occasion when obstacles seemed to hinder his friend. Jungle vegetation, urban rubble, it didn't matter- back in their Deadlock days, Gabe was agile to move through it all at running speed while Jack and the rest of the unit foundered like kids with their laces tied together.

Still, Jack couldn't keep it up forever. He ducked behind another fallen desk, but the table had been chosen for its ergonomics and cost-friendliness, not its ability to stop .500 shells, and though Jack tried to dash for cover again, he was hit in the arm, a literally bone-shattering impact. Rolling behind some fallen masonry, Jack hastily tried to deploy his biotic regenerator, a piece of Deadlock equipment he'd 'forgotten' to return to stores after he transferred to Oversight. 

In doing so however, he had to let go of his gun, and by the time he'd managed to deploy it, the omnic had rolled right up to the top of the rubble Jack had taken cover behind, the gun barrel pointed right at his head. Jack's eyes narrowed as he gave one last, defiant glare at the monowheel, knowing it was about to deal him the one kind of injury the regenerator wouldn't be able to heal. _Damn, I should've worked on Angela first instead of Amélie,_ Jack thought. _She might have upgraded this damn regenerator._ He prepared himself for the end, but the omnic didn't fire, instead emitting a loud screech that almost deafened Jack.

The lights flickered again, many for the last time, but when it came back on for a second, the monowheel remained in the dark. It didn't have time to turn around before a shotgun blast tore off its gun arm. As the impact spun it around, suddenly unbalanced, a second blast tore off its grenade launcher arm, making it spin even more violently before a third shot tore a hole neatly in its centre, showering Jack in a hail of sparks, tiny droplets of molten metal and shrapnel. It wasn't anything he wasn't used to though, and he'd managed to get his newly-healed arm up in time, so as far as he was concerned he'd gotten off lightly.

He got up, the sound of footsteps coming closer. As he stood up, he couldn't help but smile at seeing his friend approach. Even in the now dim-light, he could still make out his friend's outline. “Hey, Gabe!” he called out, taking a deep breath as he waved at his Commander, who was now leaping atop the rubble Jack had taken cover behind. “No offence, bud, but you cut it a little close there-”

Click.

“Gabe...?” Jack asked, gazing up at the barrel pointing down at him.

“They didn't have to die,” Gabriel said flatly. “We could've saved them.”

Jack slumped, but it was in frustration, not despair. “Look, Gabe, I know it hurts, but I had to make a battlefield decision,” he said. “You know damned well that you're a much more valuable asset than a few guards-”

“What? What's that you said, Jack? 'More valuable asset'? Damn it, Jack, do you even listen to yourself?” He spat, narrowly missing Jack, who'd have been more offended if he didn't know that Gabe wouldn't have missed unless he wanted to. “You could've dropped the regenerator! We could've shielded them, taken the shots!” he said in a harsh whisper. “They didn't have to die!”

“You could say that about a lot of people, Gabe,” Jack said, turning to walk away. “Many of them right here in this building. And unless we haul ass to Central Control, we'll be saying that about a lot more people. Now come on-”

There was a thump behind him as Gabriel jumped down. There was a thump on his shoulder as Gabriel grabbed it and turned Jack back around to face him. There was a thump as Gabriel headbutted him, sending Jack slumping to the ground. Jack didn't respond at first, instead taking a second to get back to his feet and wipe the trail of blood from his nose. “Satisfied?” he said after he did so.

“Not in the least,” Gabriel growled. “But if there's one thing your psychotic ass is right about, is that it can wait until we get to Central Control. After that,” he added ominously, “we're going to have a little chat.”

“Why wait?”

Both Jack and Gabriel had their guns pointed to the ceiling before the mysterious third speaker got past 'Why'. Mysterious to Gabriel, at least, or so far as Jack hoped. For his part, Jack knew that voice all too well.

A shape dropped down from the shattered ceiling onto the ground in front of them, and both Oversight agents fired at him- only for Gabriel to gasp in shock and Jack to grimace as the newcomer simply deflect all their shots, Gabriel's buckshot and Jack's bullets alike, in one swift sword slash. “ _Ohayooou gozaimaaas!_ ” Genji cried out, giving the two agents a peace sign which he waved as he squatted in front of them. “Eh, wait, is it still morning? I can't tell...”

The double doors leading out from Accounting opened, and Gabriel immediately raised his guns in that direction. Jack on the other hand, didn't. Instead, he kept his gun pointed at Genji. He wasn't planning to fire, knowing it'd be useless to try shoot the ninja (and judging by the way Genji waved at him, he knew it too), but it gave him some plausible deniability with Gabriel, and hopefully, with one of the figures casting a shadow in the doorway.

“Don't worry, my brother,” a deep voice called out in richly-accented English, one Jack was far more familiar with than Genji's. “It's still morning.” Hanzo's smile was practically audible as he went on. “The attack was far swifter and more successful than we had anticipated.”

Gabriel snarled. “I could say the same thing about how I'm going to plant my boot in your ass,” he said, as Hanzo and several omnics came into view, framed sinisterly by the still-uninterrupted light streaming in from behind them. “Before you end up wiping my shoe polish of your damn teeth, you mind telling me what the hell you and your wind-up toys are doing in here?”

An omnic standing right next to Hanzo raised his rifle. “What did you call us? Say it again,” it hissed. “Say it again, I dare you-”

“Enough,” Hanzo said, his tones so commanding the omnic immediately put down its rifle, before evidently remembering that it was also in charge of the assault. It turned, apparently to respond, but Hanzo went on. “He wants to throw you off-balance, make you do something foolish. Do not let him.”

“You don't have to tell me,” the omnic said sullenly, raising its rifle back at the Oversight agents.

“Trouble in paradise, boys?” Jack asked with an insolent grin. It wasn't a cover, not wholly; apart from a need to keep Gabriel fooled, he knew perfectly well that if the Shimadas wanted him and Gabriel dead, they'd have done so by now. There was a reason for these theatrics, there just had to be. The fact that Hanzo carried a damn bow and and quiver around in this, the middle of the 21st god-damned century also did much to calm Jack down.

“The moment has passed,” Hanzo said breezily, while Genji flipped his way back to his brother's side, Jack's gun trained on him as he did so. “Now, to answer your question,” he went on, bowing slightly to Gabriel with what, as far as Jack could tell, was genuine respect. “The omnics are here for their own reasons; they can elaborate if they wish. As for me, I am Hanzo Shimada, of the Shimada Yakuza family, and this is my brother Genji,” he said, motioning to the cyborg at his side. “We only assisted the omnics so we could deliver a message,” he said.

Jack and Gabriel gave each other split-second nervous glances before focusing once more on Hanzo. “A message? Are you goddamn serious?” Gabriel asked.

“Very much so,” Hanzo replied. “Though it is not really meant for you- we only intended to deliver it to your friend, Mr. Morrison, once we located him,” he added.

“At great cost,” the omnic said mournfully, turning its head to the shattered monowheel.

Gabriel, however, didn't have time for such sentimental moments. “Wait, what? What does Jack have to do with this?” He turned to Jack. “What the hell is he talking about, Jack?” he asked, but Jack couldn't answer him. For the first time in his life, Jack's tongue froze- of all the people he could lie to, had lie to, he couldn't do it to Gabe. He tried, oh he tried, but the words simply wouldn't rise from his mind to his mouth, and he could only watch in horror as Gabriel slowly brought one of his guns to bear on him. “Jack,” Gabriel said slowly. “What. Is. he. Talking. About?”

“Forgive me, but our friend here is growing impatient,” Genji said in those same courteous tones, indicating the omnic leader and seemingly uncaring for Gabe's other shotgun, pointed at him. Please, allow us to save Jack the trouble.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Morrison, please inform your master on our behalf that 'the Devil will not be mocked'.”

There was a short pause. “What?” Gabriel asked.

“Duuude,” Genji said, shaking his head. “Don't you read? You know, books?”

Gabriel ignored him. “What the hell's he talking about now, Jack?”

For a moment, Jack didn't answer him, instead glaring at Hanzo with defiant, but tired eyes. “There's this novel,” he said, frustration colouring his quiet tones. “During the Second Great War, a group of the Czar's soldiers were chasing fleeing Jews into Transylvania, where they met Count Dracula, of all people. They thought he'd work with them, indulge his bloodlust and help them in the pogrom, promising the Count they'd let him have free reign over the Chechens and Turks later. The Count humours them, then kills them all at midnight after revealing that he was part of the Slavic resistance. The last thing the Czarist officer in charge hears before he dies is 'The Devil will not be mocked',” he said, slumping a little as the point fully hit him.

“It means,” Genji said, pointing his finger at the Oversight agents, “that just because we're all assholes, doesn't mean we're on the same side!” he said, laughing.

Gabriel's narrowed eyes, which had been darting between Jack and the Shimadas just moments before, began to focus more and more on Jack. “I still don't know what the hell anyone's talking about,” he snarled. “But I think I've figured out just enough to tell you,” he said, motioning the gun he had pointed at Jack. “That I'm relieving you of your duty and putting you under arrest.”

“What?” Jack gasped. “Gabe-”

“Don't call me that, 76,” Gabriel said, and Jack felt his old number hit him like a punch in the gut. “I'm not going to have you stab me in the back while I do THIS!” he yelled, swinging both his guns to bear on the omnics and the Shimadas.

In that same split second, Hanzo grabbed another omnic by the back of its neck collar and pulled it in front of him. He said only one word at first. “ _Tora-_ ”

“ _-Tora-_ ” he and Genji said together.

“ _TORAAA!_ ” Genji screamed triumphantly, who turned around swinging his sword upwards, and bisecting the omnic leader just as Gabriel's buckshot smashed into the omnic Genji had pulled in front of him. It was happening so fast, Jack had no time to think things through. Blind instinct was in control now, and it was blind instinct that made Jack throw his battle rifle down to the ground and try to seize Gabriel's shotguns. There was a twitch in Gabriel's eyes, and Jack could only watch helplessly as Gabriel leapt backwards, his other shotgun coming to bear down on him, the distance between the two too far for even jack's superhuman physique to close-

Suddenly, there was a flash of blue behind Gabriel. It was too brief to blind Jack, but as soon as the light cleared, Jack could only watch in horror as he saw many spikes of that same bright blue light pierce Gabriel's body. Gabriel spat blood, and this time he didn't miss Jack. “Gabe! Gabe, no!” Jack cried, seizing his friend's bloody body. “Hey, hey, Gabe,” he said in a desperate whisper, which were still louder than the shallow breaths Gabriel was taking. “Gabe, can you hear me? Gabe? Gabe!” He turned to his side, where Hanzo and Genji were turning around, the wreckage of their omnic 'bodyguards' littering the area. “Get back here, you sons of bitches! I'm not done with you yet!” he cried out, seizing one of Gabriel's fallen shotguns.

“Assuming you even win despite being outnumbered,” Hanzo said, not turning around, though Genji did fall into a defensive position behind his brother, “fighting us will take time. Time I do not believe your friend has.”

“You didn't have to hurt him!” Jack cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks for the first time since his teenage years, before he wrested the bat out of his father's hands and turned it on the old man. “He had nothing to do with this!”

“Perhaps not,” Genji said, keeping up his implacable walk, Genji remaining on the defensive. “But our plans began and stopped with you. Everything and everyone else is expendable. Except for me and brother, obviously,” he said, some warmth creeping back into his voice as he and Genji bumped fists.

“You said it, man!” Genji said, nodding to his brother. “Okay, dude! _Sayonara-_ bye bye!” he called out to Jack. “Keep reading more books, okay? They're good for you!” As he put his hands on the double doors leading out, he added in a stage whisper, “I'd suggest medical journals,” he quipped, before giving Jack a thumbs-up and closing the doors, his maniacal cackle audible even through the thick metal.

Though a red haze descended over his mind, Jack forced it out. Right now, Gabe's survival came first. Jack reactivated his biotic regenerator, but as his eyes readjusted to the darkness now that the bright light from outside had been closed off by the door, he sank further into despair. Despite the regenerator's best efforts, he could see wounds in his friend's neck and head. He didn't need to be an actual doctor to know that Gabe had suffered serious, maybe irreversible, certainly untreatable-by-the-regenerator brain and spinal injuries.

“Come on, Gabe,” he said, taking carrying his friend in his arms. “I'm gonna get you to... to safety...” he said, trailing off as he realized just how little he knew about the situation. If he'd gotten to Central Command, he might have been able to find out where everyone and everything was, arrange for medical aid if he could. But he was stuck here, in an empty office surrounded by the corpses of those whom he had failed-

“This is Doctor Gerard Lacroix, broadcasting on all channels! Is anyone out there?”

Quickly settling Gabriel behind some cover, Jack took out his suddenly-live communicator, all while keeping the shotgun he picked up firmly in his hand. However, as soon as he tried to speak, he was drowned out by many voices, perhaps hundreds, alternatively begging, pleading, and asking Gerard for what they needed. “Wait! Wait! I'm sorry, everyone, but I must prioritize calls! Sombra!” he called out, as the litany of voices rose again in protest. “I thought you managed to isolate individual signals!”

“Can't do it without a test run, _jefe!_ ” Sombra yelled back from somewhere nearby. “Give me a second... all right, that should do it! Comms are back!” The chorus began again then, Jack among them. He thought that the user interface of Central Command's main computer was user-friendly enough for Gerard to find and isolate his unique comm signal, but that was because Jack had been using it for years-

“Lieutenant-Commander?” Gerard asked. “Oh thank God! Where's Commander Reyes and Lieutenant Amari? Are they with you? I don't know what to do, sir!”

“Keep calm, doctor!” Jack said, despite the fact that he felt like his own elastic was about to snap itself. “Ana and McCree are out- out getting help,” he said. He didn't know if anyone was aware that there was possibly as much chaos outside HQ ad there was within, and decided it didn't matter. As long as he sounded sure enough, it should hopefully calm people down, especially considering what he had to say next. “Commander Reyes is down,” he added, and he heard several gasps from the other end of the line. “But he's not out yet,” he said forced joviality. “Just needs a doc to look at him for a bit, maybe give him something to get his mind off the pain. Anywhere I can manage that?”

Someone else cleared their throat at the end of the line, someone in a room full of people moaning and groaning in pain. “This is Angela- Doctor Lacroix here, sir,” she said hastily, and Jack breathed in relief. If anyone could save Gabriel, it'd be her. “Sir, of you and anyone in the main building are in need of medical help,” she aid, coughing a little. “You need to make your make your way to Loading Bay 3. I have set up a triage station here with Specialist Zenyatta.” As Jack picked Gabe back up again, Angela continued. “If you're in the Hangar wing, Doctor O'Deorain has set up with Doctor Winston in...”

* * * * *

“Bloody hell!” Lena cried out, emptying her machine pistols into the omnics rushing in through the doors ahead of them, firing from the other side of the hydroponics bay. “They just keep coming!”

“Then we keep shooting,” Amélie said with a strained calmness in her voice. That only a few lights were working was bad enough. That they were the sole escorts for the almost dozen people who had survived both the cafeteria falling down among them and the omnic assault that followed was even worse. Amélie pushed down the guilt she felt in those first few moments, when the two techs who had woken her and Lena up were cut down in a hail of gunfire. Right now, she had the living to think of.

_Hold on, Angela, I'm coming._

Enough of that. She took a deep breath, held down her trigger. 

Her rifle was still calibrated for training; it would only fire hard light shots, and normal ones couldn't penetrate omnic shells- but omnics had joints, weak spots or wire and cable, where a burst of energy would cause much more harm than a mere bullet could.

She let go of the trigger, and immediately moved onto her next target- she didn't have time to see if she hit or not.

She pressed the trigger, held it to charge, tracked her target's movements.

There was a screech of electronic pain as her previous shot found its mark, combined with the crack of rapidly ionizing air as she fired her next energy shot.

She pressed the trigger again, frustrated one moment that everything seemed to be moving so slowly, then grateful the next when she noticed Lena running at the target she intended to shoot.

She switched again, pressing the trigger in mid-turn, the sound of rushing air as bullets grazed her mingling with the terrified screams of the civilians they were escorting mixing with Lena's battle cry combined with an explosion from her second target- it was all muted to Amélie, as if she was moving and firing in water.

One more charged shot, sent into an unlucky omnic that chose that moment to stand up, but Amélie couldn't blame it, not when a hyperactive teenager teleported past a barrage of gunfire to emerge right behind them.

The omnic went down, though whether to Amélie's shot or the hail of energy fire from Lena's machine pistols, Amélie couldn't quite really tell.

Lena teleported again, the implosion of air caused by her displacement quickly replaced by a thunderous roar and a flash of light that seemed to consume the world.

Amélie exhaled.

“Oh God, I'm... I'm not going to have to pay for that, am I?” Lena asked, panting as she staggered back to Amélie, giving a wide-eyed gaze to the massive crater her pulse bomb had left at the other end of the hydroponic bay. “But seriously though, did you see that?” she asked with a wide grin. “Soddin' BOOM!” she said, laughing.

“I did,” Amélie said, raising an eyebrow. “Now I'm wondering how and where you managed to get a fully functioning pulse bomb,” she said. Not only would it have been extremely unsafe, but as far as Amélie was concerned, quite unfair as well- why didn't she get _her_ lethal arsenal? Forget venom mines, a gun with an effective fire rate of more than one per three seconds would have been nice.

Somehow, Lena's grin grew even wider. “I didn't! One of those bastards was lugging around a whole sack of grenades,” she said, her smile holding for a moment before her face fell. “I don't think that trick'd work again, though,” she sighed.

“Hopefully, you won't need to do it again,” Amélie said, motioning for the rest of the group to stand up and follow her. “Is everyone all right?” she asked, to general denials and a 'sprained my ankle, but I'll be okay'. She breathed a sigh of relief; on one hand, she and Lena didn't seem to be facing a lot of opposition, which made escorting their small group a little easier. On the other, they didn't seem to have received a lot of help either, and the mass of chatter they got over the comms when they came back online told them why. “Are we still sticking to the plan?” she asked Lena, who nodded.

“If they're okay with it,” she said, looking at the motley group of escapees, most of whom nodded and mumbled their assent. “We might have to detour over to Loading Bay 7 though; I managed to take a short peek out the corridor while I was back there,” she said, still a little out of breath, “and the whole bloody ceiling's just collapsed. There was dust all around, so it might have been recent, but I can't be sure. Either way, there goes our shortcut.”

One young woman shook his head. “Wouldn't want to take a shortcut anyway- if we can take it, so can those damn clockworks,” she spat. 

“Oi!” Lena said, striding up to her. “Don't talk about omnics like that, you f-”

“Lena, this is not the time,” Amélie said, stepping in between them and placing a hand on Lena's shoulder. “Let's get to safety first before we... we discuss anything else, hm?”

“...yeah,” Lena replied. “Yeah, all right,” she said. She glared at the woman a moment, then walked towards the exit. “I'll take point.”

The woman she'd been speaking to shook his head. “Thanks, Specialist,” she said to Amélie. “I'm not being racist or anything, but-”

“Lena was right,” Amélie said. Her voice were soft, her tone anything but. “Now be silent and fall in line,” she said, and walked off in Lena's direction, not bothering to look at the shocked look on the woman's face.

Outside, the lighting situation was technically better, but it came with the red of the emergency lights and the flickering orange of the many, many small fires sputtering here and there. The semi-thick smoke that filled the corridors that Amélie and Lena led their motley group down only completed the hellish illusion that surrounded them. Despite her mental conditioning, training and (admittedly limited) experience, Amélie found herself growing more claustrophobic as the went through the ruined corridors.

Things didn't get better when they reached the miraculously intact umbilical bridge connecting their section of the base leading to the loading bay area. In more peaceful times, the semicircular glass roof above and to their sides would have afforded Oversight's personnel a panoramic view of Zurich below, a small perk for the often menial and clerical workers in those wings. But now...

“Oh no...” Lena said, staggering to a stop as she caught sight of what was happening outside. “Oh no... no, no, no...”

For her part, Amélie was struck dumb by what she saw. Even in the glare of the late morning sun, she could see the fires. Zurich itself wasn't burning, but certain parts of the city had been set aflame. She had passed by one of the places the day before, the police headquarters, and she had a feeling that the other larger fires had handicapped Zurich's other authorities. However, those were only the large-scale conflagrations- there were fires all over the first tier, and if the small trails of smoke she could see in the distance were any indication, the lower tiers had their own problems as well.

“We have to get out... we have to get out!” a man said frantically, tears running down his eyes as he gave Amélie and Lena a pleading look. “My children are out there! Please!”

“We will, don't worry,” Amélie said, as calmly as she could (which was certainly far less calmer than she felt), and placing a hand on the man's shoulder. “Lena, how much further?”

“J-just a little bit longer, don't worry,” Lena said, with a cocky smile that was as forced as Amélie's own cool, collected facade. “Be a bit shorter if we leg it, come on!” she said, motioning them forward. “If we're lucky, there might be vehicles there!” she said, and that got the group moving. If anything, the promise of escape seemed to reinvigorate some of them, or so it seemed to Amélie, and despite the infernal conditions they found themselves in, there was a slight air of desperate optimism around their little group.

And then they almost got to the loading bay.

Amélie should have known something was up; as they got closer, the corridors and hallways were progressively darker, the lights having either shorted out or were simply denied electricity. Even emergency power had died down, the loading bay just an unmoving steel door away. Amélie was thankful twice for Lena's quick thinking- first, when she found a ventilation shaft that the group could use, and second, when she realized that by taking point Lena had probably saved all their lives.

“That's... that's a lot of omnics,” Lena said, swallowing a little from their vantage point on a maintenance gantry high above the bay. Amélie felt that was an accurate assessment, to say the least. It was perhaps some small mercy that they were only on the ground floor at the moment; she mused that they must have got here at around the same time the Oversight agents did.

The room itself, massive and cavernous, seemed much smaller, considering how densely it was packed. Large crates and containers lined the walls and floors, while a long narrow gantry ran around the walls of the room, ladders and stairways every so often separating the winding metal framework into distinct 'floors' around the large central storage area. The only light in the room came from a series of windows on the second level, windows that hadn't managed to automatically deploy their solid steel shutters in time. A useless measure in their current situation, but one that was supposed to trigger in the event of an emergency nonetheless. Some had even stopped in the middle of closing, and Amélie wondered just how quickly the attack had taken place. 

“How do we get down?” one of the civilians whispered. Amélie looked around, her eyes having already adapted well to the dim conditions. She nodded at the man who'd asked the question, before pointing to a lower gantry, and a stack of crates next to them. More importantly, they were right next to a seemingly unused large wheeled transport lorry; Amélie tried not to think of what might have happened to its driver. At least there weren't any bloodstains nearby, as far as she could tell in the dim light. “Uh, all right,” he said, “but how do we even get there? And how will we get the doors open?”

“Hold on, let me check,” Lena said. “Give me a second- oh, and let's get you back inside the vent in case things go wrong. Well, wrong-er,” she said, evidently missing or ignoring the sudden look of uncertainty Amélie was giving her. True to her word, Lena carefully herded everyone back in the shaft, herself right at the lip of the steel passage- right before she sprinted to the end of the gantry above one of the fully open windows, and jumped down onto it. The loud bang drew the omnics' attention, but even with their machine-enhanced reflexes, they barely managed to catch sight of Lena before she leapt out the half-open window she had landed behind. Some pointed their guns upwards briefly, but as they held their fire, Amélie didn't think they'd spotted the humans cowering inside the vent.

Amélie held back the person behind her, and just as she expected, there was a small 'pop' of air right in front of her as Lena shifted back in time. “Just as I thought,” she said, still a little breathless from her run. “First shutter's down, but the secondary layer, the thick one's not,” she said. “We take that transport lorry down there, and it'd make it through,” she said, then looked back. “Well, it should, anyway. I think. Maybe.”

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat somewhere behind Amélie. “That doesn't exactly inspire confidence,” said the racist woman. “Maybe we should stick with the plan of heading to Angela's trauma centre?”

“We could,” Lena said, but something in her expression told Amélie she wasn't being wholly sincere as she continued. “But with all those omnics in the way, and the power being out? Five gets you ten we make it, but not all of us. Best if you take the lorry.”

“Besides,” said a determined voice, “my family's out there, and I'm not going to leave them to the omnics!”

“And what will you do, hm?” Racist asked. “Shoot them? With the gun you don't have-”

“Enough,” Amélie hissed. “You are all going to escape in the _verdammmt_ lorry, and that is final!” she said. “What?”

“Looks like the doctor's been teaching you some bad habits,” Lena said, her grin visible even in the near darkness.

“You have no idea,” Amélie said, returning the grin. Before Lena could ask what she meant (and Lena was certainly gearing up to do that), Amélie pet her on the side of the cheek. “Get them safely into the lorry while I distract them, all right, _cherie_?” she said, before running down the same path Lena took. One finger already charging her Huntsman, she fired her grapple at a section of the gantry she was running on, then swung down. The clanking sound of the hook on metal drew the attention of the omnics near the window, but once again, not even their mechanical reflexes were enough to prevent one from having its neck exploded by Amélie's energy shot, and another from being kicked out the window as Amélie swung feet first into it.

She didn't stop there- as the omnic fell through the window, the omnics to its sides already bringing their weapons to bear on Amélie, she detached her grapple, swinging it around in their faces as she somersaulted to the ground. A moment after she disengaged her grapple, a blast of energy tore open the gantry where the claw had just been. Adding insult to their incoming injuries, Amélie threw down one of her practice venom mines when she landed. The omnics near it jumped backwards, giving Amélie the time she needed to finish charging a shot. Another omnic went down, its neck joint sparking and smoking. Amélie didn't even wait to charge her next shot. Her rifle changing configuration mid-motion, she twisted around and jammed its barrel into the waist joint of another nearby omnic and pulled the trigger. At this range, even the lowered power of her assault configuration was enough to bisect the omnic horizontally. 

By now, every gun the omnics had was trained on her, which was just as she had planned- though now that she could see just how many of them there were (both guns and omnics), she was beginning to think she didn't quite plan things through. Too late to back out now, though. She could only hope that Lena was taking the civilians down the gantries while all this was happening. She immediately ducked low, spreading one of her legs outward, making it easier for her to make a quick 360-degree turn in place, her adrenaline-fuelled senses giving her the panoramic view she'd need to survive the next few seconds.

In that fraction of a second, she taken note of the omnics who'd raised their guns the highest, and leapt to the side.

Bolts of energy singed through her catsuit, leaving light burns on her skin and tearing holes in the concrete floor she had just leapt from.

She launched her grapple at an omnic, which managed to dodge the hook at the last second, but not Amélie's boot as she flew towards and beyond it at the crate she hooked.

Her eyes widened as her feet hit the crate and she saw what was behind it. 

She flipped backwards, firing a charged shot in mid-air, hoping against hope that the bright flash of the Huntsman drew their attention to her, and not to the survivors she saw creeping behind the crates.

Wait, wasn't Lena supposed to be guiding them-

Out of the corner of Amélie's eye, an omnic fell off the gantry above her, arms blown off by close-ranged rapid energy fire.

Lena had just enough time to give a cheeky salute before she warped out of time again, but it was enough to assure Amélie.

Back to business- a grapple around one omnic, the claw crushing its chest, right before sending it flying at another across the room. 

Another going down to Lena, arms flailing around its neck for its disappeared head right before it falls down and Lena disappears once more, laser shots filling the air she just left.

Their numbers are thinning- one lucky grapple in mid-jump manages to bring several badly stacked crates onto the omnics using them as cover.

The bolts are still flying, but the fight is more manageable no-

_No._

A lucky shot sends Amélie falling; a glancing hit on her grappling hook unbalancing her mid-dodge.

A line of omnics march in front of the lorry, guns raised like a firing squad, but the light that comes next is not from their lasers.

It's from the lorry.

With one last backwards leap, Amélie dodged the cloud of dust and debris that came from the shutters being driven through. Sparks flew from the level above her as one of the omnics tried to short-circuit the secondary shutters into closing. It worked, but by that time it was not only too late to stop the lorry from leaving, but also blew up the omnic that made the attempt. Between the chaos of the omnic's 'sacrifice', the door being driven through and of course, the sudden attack, Amélie had just enough time to grapple herself up and over a stack of crates. By the time the omnics managed to get behind there, Amélie is long gone, having slipped into a narrow grate she'd managed to glimpse between a small gap in the stacks while she was dodging shots.

Now that she was finally safe, somewhere in the narrow lower ventilation shafts running through the HQ's internal structure, she finally slumped to the ground after a few metres' ragged crawl. Her overstressed muscles' protests finally making themselves heard and her lungs felt like they were on fire. As such, it took Amélie several deep breaths before she was finally able to answer her now wildly beeping communicator.

“Amelie? Amélie, is that you?” came Lena's frantic whisper as soon as Amélie pressed her earpiece. “Oh, oh thank God All-bloody-Mighty you're all right,” she breathed. “Wait, are any of those bastards with you? Are you safe-”

“ _De rien, de rien,_ ” Amélie said between breaths. “I'm all right, Lena. Did you get everyone out safely?”

“You're sodding right we did,” Lena said, with tones of quiet pride. “Sorry I couldn't come back for you, ran out of charge when I tried, and by the time this bloody thing on my chest finally got its breath back, I teleported right into the steel door!”

“Are you all right?” Amélie asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Lena said, her apologetic smirk virtually audible across the communicator. “Just banged me head a bit. Don't worry, I didn't injure anything important!” There was a slight pause, punctuated by the hiss of indrawn breath. “Can't see a way back in near me, I'll try-”

Amélie leapt back a little at the burst of static coming through the comms. “Lena? Lena, say again! Lena, can you hear me?”

“-old – me a bit-” came snatches of Lena's voice over the comms. “There we go,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Seems like they're finally trying to jam our comms. Lucky for us, I've had a wild, misspent youth in the Red Air Force.”

“Lena, you're eighteen,” Amélie said flatly. “What 'misspent youth'?”

“Age of consent in the Union's sixteen, and you can't get preggers from other ladies,” Lena quipped slyly. “In any case, the good news is that I've managed to find a comm frequency we're not using for some reason. Had to use the ID I snagged from Winston to do it, which I hope won't get me into trouble,” she said sheepishly. “Bad news is, I've had to slave my comms to yours to make it work, so basically I'll be able to talk to you, hear whatever you're hearing, aaand nothing else. I can talk to whoever else you're on the horn with, but I can't make my own calls, basically. So if you want me to join in on some fun, you're going to have to do the button pressing for me.”

“Understood,” Amélie replied. Despite everything, she was beginning to feel her spirits lift again, if not the rest of her body. They had managed to get some personnel out, and while it seemed Lena's communicator was hampered, so was everyone else's. At least comms between the two of them were working, and even if they couldn't actually coordinate an attack together (at least, for now), it'd be nice to have someone to talk to. “I assume we are working on a new plan?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Lena replied. “Just because we don't need to bring anyone to Angela's place, doesn't mean we shouldn't go there anyway, yeah? Let's see... I can make it to Loading Bay 3, I think. It'd be a bit of a walk, but I can make a run for it and reinforce Angela. I think she could use the extra guns.”

Amélie's grip on her communicator tightened. She wanted nothing more than to know that someone she trusted would be there with Angela and keeping her safe. But that would only help Angela and Amélie; Amélie couldn't have that on her conscience. And if Angela was there in her Valkyrie suit, she might be the most protected person on the base assuming enough armed guards had been brought back to fighting trim. Forcing down the pangs in her heart, she responded, “No, Lena,” she said, each syllable stabbing her in the heart and gut. “We head for Central Command and protect Gerard. The sooner we take control of the situation, the sooner everyone is helped.”

“Good idea,” Lena said, adding with a short, quiet laugh, “You're really good at this, you know that?”

“I... thank you.” _I wish I wasn't_ , Amélie sighed.

* * * * *

“ _Mierda....!_ ” Sombra hissed under her breath. She was crouched next to a shattered console, her jury-rigged network of wires and circuit boards sparking and smoking, but still holding- at least for now. Part of her wished it had broken down a little sooner, because that way she'd only have to deal with the stress of putting it back together. Instead, she had to deal with the information coming to her in images and figures.

“What's wrong, Sombra?” Gerard asked. It had been all Sombra could do to restore communications, backup power and limited air circulation in Central Command; air-conditioning and increased ventilation had been impossible. The heat left Gerard stripped bare-chested, and Sombra in a ank top and trousers. Though Sombra did take a moment to appreciate the sight, by now the heat and stress had left them both haggard and sweat-drenched. “Anything I can help with?”

She shook her head. “They're physically hacking from here,” she said, pointing to a spot on the flickering holomap above the console. “By which I mean they're cutting through cables and antennae,” she said, pulling up security camera feeds and overlaying them on the map. Gerard gasped when he saw what Sombra had just picked up- omnics blasting through delicate machinery and transmission equipment with heavy weapons, while even delicate work with proper tools was carried out with a strange mixture of mechanical precision and maniacal gusto. “I thought they were jamming us at first...”

“But they're literally cutting off our communications,” Gerard said. “They'll be able to pick us off, pocket by pocket.”

“Oh, but I'm not done yet,” Sombra said grimly, pulling up another feed. Corpses of Oversight security staff lay strewn around a shattered barricade, and the last bit of motion captured before the camera shut off was an omnic raising its gun to the lens and firing. “That was a checkpoint I'd been tracking, and as you can see, it's just went down. Here's the problem,” she said, indicating the checkpoint's position on the map, and the many omnic signals walking past it. Judging by the gasp Gerard gave, he saw the same thing Sombra did.

“They're heading here,” he whispered. “They must be trying to cut us off here. So... is that it, then?”

“To hell with that,” Sombra said, standing up and checking the ammo levels in her SMG. “If I am to die, it will be on my own terms.” She glanced back at Gerard. “Here's the plan: I am going out there to do some physical hacking of my own. Patching into systems manually, setting up my own jammers, things like that. Here's the bad news- someone will still need to stay behind and keep things running here,” she said, with a cocky grin. “Forced to place their life and everyone in this base to a criminal.”

“And the good news?” Gerard replied. Sombra was a little disappointed he wasn't going to play along or be played.

“If I live, then I might have bought our communications as much as an extra thirty minutes. After that...” she sighed. “Hopefully I think of something else.”

“ _Oui,_ hopefully,” Gerard said, then suddenly placed his hand on her shoulder. “Good luck.”

Sombra laughed, much to Gerard's surprise, and to a little of her own. “ _Jefe,_ I think it's a little late for that, don't you think?” She ran up a flight of stairs to the exit. “Keep the door locked behind me, and don't let anyone in! Unless they're me, of course,” she quipped, then ran out into the smoke-filled corridors. Right as Gerard closed the doors behind her and she was sure she was alone, her confident smile morphed into a disgusted grimace.

 _Should've run when I had the chance,_ Sombra thought to herself while she ran through the rubble-strewn corridors and smoke-filled passages. It was possible, of course- after all, in this chaos, who would notice one more MIA? Especially if said MIA can create a whole new identity in a matter of seconds. Swiss cybersecurity was good, but all that meant was that it'd take maybe a few days for Sombra to establish herself instead of the hours she usually needed.

Instead, Sombra was here, in the middle of a collapsing building, many of its internal systems either mal- or non-functioning thanks to a massive power surge that literally blew up parts of said building. She was crawling through cramped vents, sneaking, hacking herself past and sometimes, just plain shooting her way though small scout groups of invading omnics. She was also risking her life for someone she barely knew so that she could him protect a cause she didn't believe in the least.

Sombra had never felt so _alive_.

She had to work to keep herself from giggling when she found the network junction she was looking for, hidden behind a panel inside the air vent she had climbed into. The discovery was part of it, sure, but the thrill was the main reason. It was why instead of hacking banks for millions and retiring to a comfy early retirement under an assumed name and identity, she spent her life thumbing her nose at the rich and powerful from the depths of Mexico's underworld. And it was why she had to stop herself from bursting into laughter from the near-constant rush of adrenaline. 

_Focus, Sombra, focus,_ she told herself. She pulled up a holographic display of the area on front of her, then began rerouting signals and power transmission, when- “Oho-ho, what's this...?” She couldn't believe it- an entire communication and power transmission network hidden away, even from Central Command itself. True, the more likely story would have been that Gerard had no idea how to access this even with his credentials- but if that was the case, then why didn't Jack say anything? _Definitely something to keep in my pocket,_ she thought as she began connecting to Central Command. “Gerard?” she whispered. “Gerard, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Sombra,” Gerard replied, his voice crackling a little, though much less than if Sombra had decided to go along with the original plan. “Signal strength seems to be steady, almost as good as before- well done!” he said with an obvious sigh of relief. “I cannot seem to pick up your signal, though.”

“Good- if you can't find me, then neither can the omnics,” Sombra said. “No offence, Doctor- I'd explain how, but I'm not sure you'd understand it,” she said. It was a bit of a gamble, but if she could make Gerard believe she was just that good a hacker, then she might be able to use that same explanation later with him to corroborate it.

“You don't have to,” Gerard said ruefully. “I usually get IT to handle those matters for me,” he said. “Wait...”

“What?” Sombra asked, but all she got in return at first was some surprisingly evil laughter.

“You'll see,” Gerard said after a few moments' worth of mirth. “And... _voilà!_ ” 

There was silence for another second, when Sombra heard a mechanical whirr below her. Thinking there was an omnic below her, she cursed under her breath while she frantically replaced the grate she had used to sneak in. As she clamped the thing back into place though, she saw she needn't have bothered. A pair of hovering robots, which would've seemed oddly cute were it not for their dual gun 'arms', had emerged from the walls below her. As Sombra watched, a few more joined the pair, and they began speeding off towards some unknown target. “Gerard! Some robots have floated out of the walls- please tell me that was you!”

“It was! At least, I think it was!” Gerard laughed, though Sombra was (understandably, she thought) not confident. “Whatever you did managed to restore our security systems, if this option is to be believed,” he said, presumably pointing somewhere on his control console. “You're a heroine, Sombra! You saved us all!”

Sombra raised an eyebrow. She'd been called many things, but 'heroine' was definitely not one of them. She had to admit, it did feel good. Her pride waned a little when she called up a few feeds from the surviving security cameras and saw just how badly the robots were actually performing, but in many cases they served as the perfect distraction. Here and there they were flanking the omnics, sometimes from behind, and helping Oversight forces to rally and regroup. In several cases, especially around checkpoint as well as near the impromptu trauma centres in Loading Bay 3 and the hangars, they were even counterattacking. With a bemused eyebrow, Sombra even saw that pilot of theirs, Big Sky, leading the charge on an omnic position that had been thrown into chaos.

In fact, as far as she could see, the tide had definitely turned in favour of Oversight, now that she found she could access the outside cameras as well. Outside coverage wasn't as good as what she could get inside the base, but from the one camera Oversight did have left watching the streets, she could see the red and blue flashes of police cars heading towards the HQ, even a police helicopter. The smoke coming from the city did worry her a little, but if the Zurich PD could spare a few cars to come to Oversight's aid, then whatever was happening in the city should have been under control.

She checked the holodisplay, and to her pleased surprise saw that no omnic was trying to head towards her own position. True, it was a little out of the way for either a direct assault or a flanking maneuver, but it was still good to see that she wouldn't have to worry about any unwanted guests showing up. Indeed, the way Sombra saw it, all she really had to do now was lie back and wait for the clean up, and that was exactly what she did. “ _Hola, jefe!_ ” she said through her comms. “I'm going to have to stay here and maintain the link,” she lied. “We're winning though, so don't worry. Just sit back and wait for rescue. It's what I'm doing,” she said, stretching a little.

“Someone is confident,” Gerard said dryly. “But it does seem you're right... wait,” he said, and Sombra sat up. “Sombra, check your map. I am seeing omnics gathering in Sector C 15- can you confirm?”

Cursing under her breath, Sombra pulled up her holomap once again. If the omnics had interrupted her well-deserved break, she was going to send every security bot she can after their asses as soon as she figured out how. As soon as she pulled the map up, she began making those plans. “What are those tin cans doing?!” she hissed. Most of the security cameras there had been destroyed, but she did manage to access a webcam on a as-yet undamaged laptop. “Gerard, are you receiving this?” she asked, patching the feed in.

“Yes, I am... what are they doing?” Gerard asked.

On the display were several omnics all lined up in perfect rows. By Sombra's count, there were at least a dozen she could see, and maybe another row behind them, with one more omnic in front of them typing something out on what looked like a personal holopad. They were standing next to a massive cable the size and thickness of a tree trunk, in front of which an upraised console lay, its readout too far and the laptop's webcam too low-quality for Sombra to see. Wires extended from the necks of the standing omnics into the console. The typing omnic gestured behind itself, and another two walked past it and grabbed the first omnic in the row. They nodded and the typing omnic responded in kind before it pressed something on the holopad.

“What... what's happening?” the grabbed omnic said, suddenly collapsing a little; had it not been held up, Sombra had no doubt it would have crumpled onto the floor. “Where am I? What are you doing- no! No! Please, don't do thi-” it begged, before the typing omnic said something else. The held omnic's digital scream of pain that followed did more than hurt Sombra's ears, it created digital noise as well that disrupted the webcam feed. As it lay twitching on the floor, Sombra noticed that the feed's quality did not improve.

“Sombra, do you know what is going on?” Gerard asked.

“I'm not sure...” Sombra said, but then the typing omnic and its lackeys repeated the process with the second omnic in the row, the feed getting even worse when that omnic's pleas for mercy dissolved into screaming. That was when the realization hit her, and sent a chill of terror down her spine and into her gut. “ _Madre de Dios..._ ”

“What? What is it?!”

“These omnics we've been fighting- they're not willing!” Sombra gasped. “They must have had their programming rewritten!”

“ _Putain de merde_ \- so we've been killing innocents?” Gerard said, as shocked as Sombra was. “What is this then, some series of cruel executions?” he asked.

“Worse,” Sombra said. “It takes a lot to reprogram an omnic,” she said, trying to explain while she launched her own electronic countermeasures into the system. Oddly enough, the effort it took her to explain helped keep her nerves calm. “In some cases, it's easier to reprogram a human. That's because omnics have their own internal defences to overcome-”

“My God, how long has this uprising been planned?” Gerard asked.

“I don't know,” Sombra replied. “It's not important right now. You see, now that the programming has been lifted, that omnic with pad is trying to hack them directly and bluntly. Like trying to chop a tree down with a shovel.”

“I don't understand,” Gerard replied. “Why? Aren't the omnics already hacked? Why do it again?”

Sombra hissed through her teeth. The process was repeating with omnic after omnic, all left screaming on the floor. “The blunt approach will overclock their defensive systems- it's like how diseases cause high fevers. It's sending static and trash signals everywhere, interrupting my feed and pushing past that room's security proto- _culos!_ ” she yelled as another omnic's screams of agony cur the feed off entirely.

“But why? Why do that?” Gerard asked.

Sombra hissed again. “Shut up and maybe I'll find out,” she said, and Gerard fell silent. “It seems that was a power generator room, which leads to...no, no!” she gasped. “Gerard! Get out of there! Get out of there now!”

“Can you keep the comm lines open from there?” Gerard asked.

“I don't know! Ask me later!” Sombra screamed, no longer caring if anyone outside heard her. “You need to get out of there n-”

The sound of a distant explosion rumbled through the base, sending vibrations through her body. Sombra sat there, speechless for a few moments, blinking dumbly at the indicators on the holomap that told her that Central Control was offline. “Gerard...?” she asked in a small voice.

“I'm here, Sombra,” the psychologist replied. 

For a second, Sombra felt relief, when the eerie calmness of Gerard's tones hit her. “Gerard, are you all ri-”

“Can you... can you get me a private comm-line with my wife?” Gerard asked, and this time Sombra was sure she heard the deep breaths he was taking between syllables. “I need to speak to her. Her full name is Angela Lacroix, L-A..C-R-O-I...X.” She heard him swallow. “If that does not work, look for Angela Z... Ziegler, Z-I-E-G...L-E-R.”

“Gerard? What-” Sombra began.

“Sombra... please,” Gerard said, his quiet whisper firm despite the gurgling Sombra could hear in his voice.

“... _Si, si_ Gerard,” she said. “Give me a second.” She barely knew the man, she told herself, so why the hell did she feel like she about to cry? “Come on,” she said, scanning the frequencies, all of which seemed to be in use. “Someone shut up, shut up, please...” she said, her search growing more desperate with every laboured breath she could hear Gerard take.

* * * * *

Amélie's comm beeped again, drawing her attention from wondering what the rumble she just felt was. More to the point, she did not recognize the holodisplay emerging in front of her face, asking her to confirm her new comm frequency. Hesitantly, she raised a finger and tapped the 'YES' option hovering in front of her. Her eyebrow rose even further at the confirmation message.

**[Thank you, Lieutenant Guillard. Your new comm frequency has been registered, and is now ready for use.]**

And then below it, in a different, more stylized font:

**[I knew you'd come around – Commander Morrison]**

_That presumptuous-_ Amelie thought, when a voice interrupted her.

"-ave found you a frequency, Gerard," Sombra said. 

"Sombra?" Amelie asked. "What is this about?"

"There was a slight hiccup in the transmission just now, but I don't think anyone is listening in," the hacker went on, and Amelie realized Sombra didn't hear her. "The signal is very heavily encrypted; it's not something someone can access by accident," she said, and Amelie was hit by a second realization- for some reason, Sombra's breath was hitching. "Hold on, I'm connecting you to your wife now..."

 _Angela?_ Amelie thought. _What does she have to do with this?_

* * * * *

Angela turned her staff to another fallen soldier, the golden beam reattaching her arm and re-sealing her stomach in a matter of seconds. Still grimacing with pain, the soldier, along with her buddies who brought her in, gave Angela their thanks before heading back to the strongpoint they had been manning. She waved back; part of her wished she could follow, but in the chaos, she had been cut off from Torbjorn's workshop, where her suit was stored. It was a miracle that she had kept the Caduceus Staff close at hand in the lab.

She didn't know when or how the security bots were reactivated (hell, she didn't even know Oversight even _had_ security bots), but their presence definitely turned the tide. Before, she and Zenyatta were barely holding onto their foothold in Loading Bay 3, even with the accelerated healing the two of them had been providing. But with the arrival of both the security robots and the Lieutenant-Commander, they were managing to push forward. Last Angela had heard, they even planned to link up with Winston and the rest of the forces that had been holed up in the hangar, before sweeping across the base, clearing out what they could.

She remained in Loading Bay 3 though- so many people had heard of her trauma station and decided to head there, that she had decided to send Zenyatta ahead and remain in place, where she could use her staff to treat the most grievously wounded. It was there that she decided to answer her communicator. Thanking whoever was listening that the call came in during a lull in the stream of patients, she pressed the bead in her ear. “This is Doctor Lacroix speaking,” she said.

“Angela...”

“Gerard?” Angela gasped, her eyes opening wide. She looking around, and once again gave silent thanks that nobody seemed to need urgent help at that moment.

“Angela... I... I don't know how to say this,” Gerard replied, and Angela's grip on the Caduceus Staff tightened when she heard the strain in his voice, the pain he was holding back.

“Gerard, where are you? Are you still in Central Control?” she said, looking around for an exit. “I'll be there in-”

“No, Angela!” he said, his agony adding to the urgency in his voice. “Stay where you are- the people there will need your help more than me.”

With the Devil's own timing, another pair of stretcher-bearers brought in an injured trooper, moaning in pain, his body armour in tatters and shirt soaked in blood. Angela poured a stream of nanites into the trooper, all while trying to concentrate on her husband's voice. “Gerard, I can't,” she said, both relieved that the soldier seemed to be healing well, and terrified for her husband's life. Waving off the now-recovered trooper to a stockpile of unused equipment, she turned her attention back to her communicator. “Gerard, I can't leave you alone there! How badly injured are you? Never mind, I'll get Zenyatta back here, and-”

“Angela,” Gerard said gently, the agony and strain seemingly gone, if only for that moment. “I know.”

“What?” Angela said, still trying to think of the quickest way to reach him. “What are you talk-”

“I know... about you and Angela,” Gerard said, and Angela froze, her blood cold in her veins.

“Gerard, I...” Angela began, but the words would not leave her mouth.

“Jack, that bastard, he led me around the city yesterday...” Gerard said. Angela wished he'd sounded angrier- the gentleness with which he spoke was worse than any amount of fury he could have spat at her. “I didn't know why... I think he was trying to follow you and Angela, show me how close you had become.” There was a bitter laugh. “He succeeded.”

“Gerard,” Angela whispered, tears already running down her cheeks. “I... I'm so sorry...”

“No, Angela,” Gerard said, as calm and gentle as he ever was... as he would ever be, Angela knew. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I... that I wasn't good enough for you.” He laughed again, one of genuine humour. “I'm sorry, Ang... Angela, that sounded worse than I meant.”

“I understand, Gerard,” Angela said, holding a hand to her eyes and ignoring the worried looks the injured soldiers were giving her. “Please, we... we can talk about this,” she whispered hoarsely. “I can come over in a few minutes, just hold on-”

“Angela,” Gerard said, a little quieter this time. “Angela, tell me...”

“Yes, Gerard?” Angela whispered.

There was a moment of silence, and Angela's legs gave way. She collapsed to the ground, to a kneeling position, the thought that it was too late pulling her down- “Angela,” he whispered, the sound of his voice lightening the burden on her, if only a little. “Would you- no, _could_ you ever smile at me... the way you smiled at Amélie? There, on the shore of the Zurichsee?”

* * * * *

“Say yes, Angela!” Amélie screamed, her finger practically jammed into her comm as she ran through the underground passages of Oversight HQ. Seeing a grate above her, she sent a charged shot into it, blasting right through it into the second grate she saw above her. One blast of her grappling hook, and she flew upwards into the shaft above, not even realizing she was being shot at from both sides by a squad of surprised omnics, right before a pack of Oversight security bots found them.

“Say yes, Angela!” she screamed again, crawling through the vent she found herself in, her instincts, memories and spatial awareness combining to guide her. “He doesn't deserve this, Angela! Don't do this to him!”

* * * * *

Her hands were clasped to her ear, her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes staring into the floor. “I'm sorry, Gerard,” Angela whispered. “I'm so... I'm so sorry.”

* * * * *

Gerard closed his eyes and took a ragged breath, averting his eyes from the massive concrete slab over his chest. “D... don't cry, Angela,” he whispered, caressing the comm he held to his own ear in lieu of being actually able to comfort his wife in person. “It's all right,” he said, blinking away his own tears. “The times we had... they were good times, weren't they?” he said with a quiet laugh. “Promise me, Angela-”

“Gerard, please...”

“Promise me,” Gerard said, forcing what little strength he had left to the fore. “Promise me that no matter what happens from now on... promise me, that you'll be happy,” he said. “That is all I have ever wanted for you... promise me, Angela!”

“...I promise, Gerard.”

“Good,” Gerard said, his heart feeling lighter despite the physical weight on it. “Good. Thank you, Angela,” he said. “Now... now I think I hear someone asking for help in the back,” he said, his small smile growing a little wider.

There was a pause. “Goodbye, Gerard,” Angela said. “I... I love you, Gerard. I always have, and I always will.”

Gerard gave another soft laugh. “I was about to tell you to not spend all that love in one place, save some for Amélie,” he said, his breaths growing shorter. “But I think that you, of all the people in the world, have enough for both of us.” He took another deep breath, and the darkness began to recede, just a bit. “Now, I believe your patients need you, Doctor.”

Before he could hear Angela's reply, he pulled the comm away from his ear and tossed it to the side. It was too late to save him, he told himself, she needed to focus on those whom she could. It was certainly not because he didn't want his heart to break any further, or that he didn't want Angela to hear his own quiet “I love you,” in return.

High above and behind him, out of his sights, a grate popped out of its sockets and landed with a loud clang in the darkened room. A second later, footsteps followed. “Give me a few seconds, my omnic friend,” Gerard said with a defiant grin. “And I'll s... save you the ammunition.”

“Don't joke like that, Gerard,” Amélie said, staggering up to him before falling to her knees above him. “Why? Why, Gerard?” she asked, golden eyes catching his own.

Gerard shook his head. “I had to know,” he said. “I needed to know.”

“No, no you didn't!” Amélie yelled back. “You didn't! Because you decided that death was preferable to trying to fix your marriage! To making an effort to lifting this stupid rock! It's not even really holding you down! I can see the gap, you foolish, foolish man!”

Gerard was surprised to find that he still had the strength to raise a finger and wag it. “Now... now... Amélie, I know you don't mean that... I'm the base psychologist, remember?” he said with a short laugh. He pointed unsteadily under the slab. After wiping a frustrated tear from her eyes, Amélie peered underneath, and gasped when she saw what Gerard was painfully aware of. 

“The rebar...” she whispered.

“Yes, right through," Gerard said, his laughter turning into a coughing fit after a moment. "Even if I could pull it off,” Gerard said, “all it would do is make me bleed to death faster.” He winced. “I... I've been trying to remain calm, to stay strong for Angela... and for you,” he whispered. “But the pain... please, Amélie...”

Amélie nodded, standing back up. “I understand,” she said. Though she raised her rifle unsteadily, once it was in position, her grip was still and steady. “From this range, a charged shot should still be fatal,” she said, seemingly more to herself then to Gerard. “Are you... are you sure you want this?”

“I am,” Gerard said. “But... but before you pull the trigger, I want you to promise me something as well.”

“And what is that?” Amélie asked.

“Promise me, Amélie,” Gerard said in a gasping whisper, his breath growing shorter. “Promise me... that you'll be there for Angela, that you'll be everything I wasn't... everything I couldn't be,” he said. “She promised me that she'll be happy but..." He gasped, a sudden surge of pain stealing his breath away, but rallied one last time, and gave Amélie a sad smile. "But I get the feeling that will not happen if you aren't there.”

“I promise,” Amélie said hoarsely. 

“Thank you...” Gerard said. “Now, if you would please...”

Amélie nodded, and lifted the Huntsman to her shoulder. She held down the trigger, and released.

“Overwatch personnel targeted outside of training hall,” came a tinny, feminine voice from the Huntsman. “Rifle deactivated. An alert has been sent to the nearest Oversight personnel,” it continued, while Amélie looked at her rifle incredulously, and Gerard laughed bitterly. “Please stand by and await disciplinary action. Do not resist arrest.”

As Amélie goggled at her recalcitrant weapon, Gerard began... to laugh. “Just my luck, eh?” he said. With each laugh, he felt himself becoming shorter and shorter of breath, the agony in his torso growing stronger and stronger. And yet, he kept on laughing, partly because of the absurdity of the situation, partly because if he stopped, he knew he'd die weeping. And he'd be damned if he did that to Amélie, or if he'd let word of it get back to Angela.

He was still laughing when the darkness overtook him.

* * * * *

Amélie stood there dumbly, staring down as Gerard's laughter died down. She looked at his body, his wide smile forever locked into his features. She dropped her rifle at her side, and slumped back down, just staring at the body in front of her. She searched inside of her, looking for that one part of her that hated him- hated him for his insane plans to turn her into a super-soldier, hated him for all that she went through to be moulded into the perfect Oversight operative.

But she couldn't find it in her, not anymore. It was there once, she knew- but not anymore. She didn't know when she lost it, or how. All she knew was that, sitting here and looking at the dead psychologist... she mourned him. “You didn't deserve this,” Amélie said.

“No, he didn't.”

Amélie spun around, and saw Lena walking sadly to her, Sombra following closely behind. Lena pointed behind her. “Met up with Sombra on the way here,” she said quietly, and sat down beside Amélie. “So... yeah, we heard everything. Me and Sombra, I mean. On the transmission, and... and that,” she said, pointing to the discarded Huntsman. “I dunno what to say... maybe 'bloody hell', I think, but that's hardly anything.”

Amélie nodded, still numbly staring at Gerard's body. “I don't know what to do,” she whispered, when she suddenly found her Huntsman thrust into her face.

“Me neither,” Sombra said. “But as far as I know, we still have a base to retake.”

Taking the rifle, Amélie looked back up at the other two women, asking the question she really wanted to ask. “And after that?”

Lena helped her up. “I wish I had an answer,” she said sadly.


	15. Oversight - The Rise

The world needs heroes, especially after times of disaster. In light of this, sometimes measures must be taken to find them. To paraphrase Voltaire, “If heroes do not exist, then it would be necessary to create them.”

After the Zurich attack, the world was flooded by images coming from stricken the stricken city. In the first few hours, shocking images of omnics running wild flooded the airwaves, reporters crying as they gave what they thought would be their last words to their families and passing on those of their crews. Citizens would later tell stories about those early hours, when they lent their phones to police officers who found their own communication network access being cut. One Pulitzer-winning photo captured the moment a man charged a line of omnics wielding nothing more than a flagpole bearing the Swiss flag, a photo which would be spread around the world.

The consequences that followed would see the photographer commit suicide several months later.

And then like any good story, the heroes came to save the day. People all over the world cheered when images of McCree and Ana saving the day went viral, the cocky assuredness of a young, modern-day cowboy contrasting well with the calm professionalism of a veteran sniper. Egypt was especially proud of their native daughter, and so too was a young corporal in the Egyptian Army. 

The shots from within Oversight HQ when the reporters arrived were even more striking. The world saw and heard about how a young Indian woman held her small pocket of resistance for hours, and in Mumbai a young executive alternated between mentally kicking himself for allowing her to go, and fearing for his professional (if not his actual) life- Vishkar wasn't the nicest of taskmasters, after all. A tired, battle-scarred Siberian giant and a similarly battered Norwegian dwarf bumped fists for the camera, the soot- and burn-blackened horde of omnics they fought through from the basement forming a better carpet than any mere one of red cloth. 

In short, there were no shortage of heroes fit for public consumption. No dearth of champions for the people of the world to rally behind. No lack of symbols to gaze soulfully into the sky on banners and holo-statues while politicians spoke of the future.

The only heroes, in fact, that the world lacked, were the ones walking numbly around the place they had once called, if not home, then a place where they could belong.

* * * * *

Jack looked down at the surgical bed where Gabe lay, his grip tightening on the bars at the foot of the bed. Next to him, Angela stood, her tired eyes flicking between the holopad she held, Jack, and nothing in particular. Despite power having been partially restored, only the most essential systems were currently online to save strain on the damaged generators while Torbjorn and his engineers fixed what they could. This meant that the only light that came in the room was the pinkish red of the evening.

Jack wished he could tell Torbjorn to hurry the hell up. The setting sun was too painful a reminder.

He could understand what had happened to Gabe from a cold, academic perspective. His spine and brain had suffered grievous, incurable injuries- ironically, the very genetic treatments that made him and Gabriel so hardy also made it harder for Angela to heal him, even with the Caduceus to heal him. His mind was also... thankful, for lack of a better word. After all, if Gabe woke up, the first thing on his mind would be to call for Jack's arrest. From a logical point of view, the best outcome would be to have Gabe lie in a coma until Jack could figure out a way to isolate him when he woke up, and then convince Gabe that Jack's actions were for the greater good.

Unfortunately for Angela (and ultimately, him), Jack's mind wasn't in control at that moment.

“Are you telling me that even with all this, this _crap,_ ” he growled, indicating the surgery, the Caduceus Staff and the personnel within with one sweeping gesture, “you can't help Gabe? Because that's what it's starting to sound like to me!”

“Please stop shouting, Lieutenant-” Angela said, her voice beginning to waver a little.

“Like hell I will, Doc!” Jack yelled back. “I've read the reports, I've seen you on the battlefield- you can bring people _back to life_ , damn it!” He paused a moment, held a hand to his face. He couldn't let anyone see him cry, he couldn't. “What's stopping you now? You've got the best medical technology on the goddamned planet- use it!”

“If you will let me explain, lieutenant-commander-”

“Commander,” Jack said flatly.

“What?” Angela asked, thrown off momentarily.

“Until... until Gabe gets better, or until Director Petras finds someone to fill his spot, I... I'm assuming temporary command of Oversight,” he said slowly and deliberately, looking back down at his friend's comatose body. As he said the words, he felt both satisfaction and disgust warring inside him. He certainly saw himself in this position, always had- but he'd never wanted it to come at so high a price. “Well? Out with it, Doc!”

Angela drew herself up to her full height; though her eyes were reddened and puffy, her gaze was firm and steady. “First: you and _Commander_ Reyes are not baseline humans anymore,” she said. “The Caduceus Staff can still compensate for many injuries either of you can suffer, but there are limits. The very genetic and nano-treatments that made you both super soldiers are also fighting off my attempts to heal him with the staff. And yes, our technology is the best- as far as we know,” she said, emphasizing every last syllable. “You government is still unwilling to share the secrets of project Deadlock with me, as you very well know.” 

She paused to take a breath. Jack thought her tirade had ended, but she had one final thing to say. “As things stand, it's impossible, at least from where we stand. It's up to him,” she said, glancing sadly at the man in the bed. “Believe me, Commander, if I could heal Gabriel, I'd have saved everyone here,” she said, indicating the row of patients behind Jack, all of whom were locked in comas as well. “I'd have saved Gerard,” she said quietly.

Jack snorted. “Really? You expect me to believe that?” he said in a quiet whisper, though his heart was roiling. “Because now that he's dead, you and your girlfriend have each other to yourselves,” he said, taking savage relish in the gasp Angela gave him. “I'd say things worked out perfectly for-”

The slap wasn't that strong, all things considered, but the shock of it still staggered Jack a little. Though their eyes were level now, Jack still felt like Angela still managed to look down at him, her eyes blazing with fury. His eyes narrowed; he'd seen that look before, both on and off the battlefield. His muscles tensed; if she wanted a throwdown here and now, in the middle of her patients... well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd fought in a hospital.

Wouldn't be the first time he'd killed a doctor, either.

Then as suddenly as the fury rose, it disappeared, and Angela slumped a little. Giving Jack one last look, she walked away, leaving him to fume in her wake. But what could he do? She did have a point- say what he liked about her (and boy howdy, did he have a lot to say about that useless Swiss woman), she would have saved everyone here if she could have, Gerard included.

With a heavy sigh, Jack turned back to where his old friend lay, looking sadly upon Gabriel's sleeping body. The medical orderlies around him did their duties in hasty silence; they hadn't overheard the tail end of the conversation, but if it was enough to get Dr. Lacroix to react the way she did, there was obviously something there, something they didn't want to step in. 

If he was being perfectly honest, though, Jack wouldn't have minded an intrusion. There, accompanied only by the sounds of shuffling feet, the beeping and soft hissing of the machines, Jack's mind instinctively focused itself, and he hated what it chose to focus on. Especially for all that it was true.

Because despite all the pain and misery he felt, if he was given a chance to go back in time and undo all this, with the only cost being that he'd never make Commander... he wouldn't take it. He wanted to convince himself that now that he was in command, he could finally do what he needed to do to keep the world safe. That as the man in charge, tragedies like this... he wasn't so naïve to think he'd be able to stop things like this from happening again, but he can damned well try his best, and sometimes that was all that the world needed.

But no matter how much he tried to tell himself all that, there was till that damned sense of... triumph. He was where he needed to be, where the world itself would need him to be-

“Commander.”

He turned around; the speaker sounded confident, so sure of herself, he instantly took a dislike to it. How dare they sound like they knew what was going on when Jack was so lost? The last thing he needed now was someone who thought they could tell him what to do and how to do it. Still, he'd chased off one doctor, no sense in angering another. “Yes?” he asked, turning around. “Doctor... O'Deorain, was it? Moira O'Deorain?”

“That's right,” Moira replied, a slight lilt in her voice betraying her Irish origins. Her smile was as calm, collected and sure of herself as her tones were. “I overheard most of your conversation with-”

“Then you'll know I'm not in the mood for small talk,” Jack snarled. “Go on, make your pitch, then get the hell out.”

“Of course, Commander,” she said. “Then I'll be brief: Dr. Lacroix was right, bringing your friend back from the brink will be difficult. However, she was wrong when she said that it was impossible. That was my pitch,” she said, her enigmatic smile growing slightly wider. “Shall I get the hell out now, sir?”

“Don't play smart with me, Doctor,” Jack hissed.

“Please, sir, I have no intention of merely 'playing',” Moira replied. Now her grin had teeth. “Shall we talk somewhere more private?” she asked, looking around before continuing in a whisper. “I'd rather not speak of my proposal where... shall we say, I might be misunderstood in my intentions.”

“Oh?” Jack asked, intrigued despite himself.

Moira nodded. “As cruel as it may sound, sometimes sacrifices must be made in the name of science,” she said, glancing at the patients behind Jack. Medical staff brought a steady stream of wounded personnel to the impromptu trauma centres around the ruined base, and the most serious cases were brought here- even as Jack watched, another patient was wheeled in on a makeshift bed scavenged and reassembled from somewhere.

He nodded slowly, the implications becoming crystal clear to him as he followed Moira to another room. It wasn't a move Gabriel would approve of, not in the least. But that was all right, Jack thought. It wouldn't be the first secret he'd hide from his friend. The more time he thought about it, the better it seemed to him; after all, he knew

_best_

better than to think that the process of bringing Gabe back would be a quick one. It would take yea- it would take a while, that he was sure of. The fact that Angela couldn't

_wouldn't_

wave her magic wand and make it all better was proof enough of that. Yes, it was a bastard move, to be sure. But like the good doctor said, sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Hard times call for hard men to make hard decisions. Gabriel would understand that, when Jack explained it all to him when he woke up. 

He had to.

He will.

* * * * *

“You are hurt, Tekharta. You must see to your own health!”

As he knelt next to a still-wounded soldier, his healing orbs slowly closing the man's wounds, Zenyatta placed a gentle hand on the one Zarya had laid on his shoulder. “I will be fine, Zarya,” he told the woman who had appointed herself his bodyguard. “The damage I have taken is minimal. I will attend to it in time. For now though, I must give aid to those who need it more.”

“I don't doubt your kindness, Tekharta,” Zarya replied, looking around with narrowed eyes. “But there are others who do,” she said, delicately.

If Zenyatta had the lungs to sigh, he would have. As loathe as he was to admit it, she had a point. Though there were a few soldiers who were sincerely grateful for the aid he had given (and was currently giving) them, there were more who accepted but watched him with suspicion as he healed them, or got their less-injured friends to watch him as he did so. But the majority of the still-wounded (and thus, what caused Zenyatta more pain than his wounds ever could) were those who made no secret of not wanting 'some wind-up toy's help'.

“It doesn't matter,” Zenyatta finally told Zarya, as the wounded soldier's last wounds closed up. “I will help as much as I can- how could I do any less?” he asked. “What else can I do?”

Before Zarya could answer, a wounded man in torn business wear at the other side of the room spoke up. “By getting the hell out of Oversight, that's what!” he said. Much to Zenyatta's alarm, there were a few ragged cheers here and there, and while there were a few people telling the man to keep quiet, they were fewer than Zenyatta thought. Zarya looked behind the monk at the soldier Zenyatta had just healed, and the soldier just turned away. Though Zenyatta took solace in the shame the man obviously felt, Zarya obviously didn't.

“Coward,” she hissed at him before Zenyatta could stop her, her fist clenching. But her temper held, to Zenyatta's own quiet pride, and he gave her a slight squeeze on the shoulder to tell her so. She took a deep breath, and nodded back at Zenyatta, when the sound of a door opening drew her attention. Communications were still being re-established; between that, and fears that Oversight's systems were still compromised, meant that comms use was restricted, while what was left of Oversight's cybersecurity division and Sombra repaired and cleaned the network.

Even so, communications had to be established, and so most non-urgent messages were now passed via runners, like the one who had just walked in. “Message for you from the new Commander,” the messenger said. His tones were professional, but Zenyatta could see how his body tensed up when Zenyatta met his gaze. “He wants to see you in his office immediately.”

“New Commander?” Zenyatta asked. “Is Commander Reyes...?” 

“Commander Reyes is indisposed for now,” the courier said. “Until he recovers, or we receive other orders from Director Petras, Lieutenant-Commander Morrison has assumed command of Oversight. Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the door.

“Have some resp-” Zarya began, when Zenyatta placed his hand on her arm again. “Sorry, Tekharta.”

“It's all right,” Zenyatta replied, as the two of them followed the messenger. “It has been a tiring day for all of us.”

However, Zenyatta felt the strength return to his limbs as he walked through the halls of Oversight. It had been only a few hours since the attack had been halted (at least on Oversight HQ; the clearing of the Zurich inner core would take days, even weeks, if Zenyatta had heard right), but people were already starting to rebuild. As they walked by the garden, Zenyatta paused a moment in delighted disbelief- there, two men were actually replanting a small tree. “Hey, come on,” the messenger said, gesturing for Zenyatta to continue.

That was enough to draw the attention of the gardeners. “Whoa!” one of them cried, pulling out a handgun from the holster on his belt, the man next to him doing the same. Zenyatta shrank back, while Zarya stepped in front of him. Later, she would point out that the messenger did nothing.

“Wait, wait,” the other gardener said, re-holstering his gun. “That's Zenyatta, he's one of ours.”

“Yeah? You sure about that?” the one who first spoke replied. “I overheard that Mexican tech chick, she said that the omnics were all hacked to attack us!” he said, his voice near hysterical. “Sure, he says he's on our side, he might even think it, but I'm not betting my life on that!”

Zarya shook her head. “Do you even listen to yourself?” she said. “I will not stand here and let you insult-”

“All right, all right, that's enough! Break it up!” the messenger said, stepping inbetween the gardeners and Zarya. “You two,” he said, pointing at the gardeners, “get back to work! And _you_ two,” he said to Zarya and Zenyatta, “get back in line,” he said, gesturing for them to follow him, muttering something under his breath when they did so. 

Things didn't get better on the way there. There were no more outbursts, but a lot of suspicious glances, a lot of people walking to the other side of the room, a lot of people making detours through debris-filled labyrinthine corridors. It wasn't just Oversight personnel either- men and women in Swiss Army uniforms also did the same, as did those from civilian agencies. Zenyatta wasn't sure whether to be thankful or scared that Zarya had passed from fuming indignation to a sort of cold resentment over the course of their journey. Sadly enough, he knew just why she felt that way- apart from her own views on omnics, he'd seen her receive similar treatment from the Russian guests who sometimes visited the temple. 

Their escort knocked on Lieut- on Commander Morrison's door. “Sir, Miss Zaryanova and Specialist Zenyatta are here.”

“Thanks, Yancy. Let 'em in,” Commander Morrison said as the doors swung open. “You may resume your duties.”

“Thank you, sir,” Yancy said. He was as professional as ever, yet Zenyatta managed to detect a hint of relief in the man's voice as he saluted and walked away. However, it was a minor curiosity, and Zenyatta put it out of his mind as he entered the Commander's office. As he entered, Zenyatta felt that if he had eyebrows, he'd certainly raise them in astonishment; Zarya certainly did so, and she didn't have the benefit of seeing the room as it once was.

Gone was the spartan sterility and general aura of consummate professionalism that had once permeated the room. Now it was a tangle of thin wires and thick cables running all over the floor, hooked up to various hastily-erected monitors all over the place. Several were on Jack's desk, where he sat, his face illuminated by the glow of the holoscreens before him. Behind him stood a red-haired woman Zenyatta vaguely recognized, and Lieutenant Amari, who gave Zenyatta a brief angry glance. 

Zenyatta wondered what he had done to anger her, when she turned back to Jack, snapped a salute and told him that that “I'll pass your message on, _sir_ ,” her voice an angry hiss; for his part, Jack quickly turned his attention to something else on the monitors, something the woman behind him was pointing out. As she turned away to walk out, she caught Zenyatta's gaze, and she shook her head, all the fury she had just shown gone. “Good luck, Zenyatta,” she said quietly, gripping the omnic on the shoulder lightly, then walking away before either Zenyatta or Zarya could respond. 

“Zenyatta,” Jack said, attracting both his and Zarya's attention. “And... Zarya, right? Aleksandra Zaryanova? You spoke to Lieutenant Amari earlier, right? Come on, have a seat, you two,” he said, indicating the seats mired in the tangle of wires in front of them.

“I prefer to stand, sir,” Zarya said flatly, but she did follow Zenyatta as the monk walked over and primly took a seat. “And I did speak to Lieutenant Amari, yes,” Zarya replied, nodding slowly. “I told her why I was here, to stop the omnic uprising,” she sighed. “I failed.”

Jack shook his head. “Against the kinds of odds and tactics you were facing, I don't think you had a chance. No offence,” he added hastily. “But you were one person- a one person army, sure, but one person nonetheless- looking for a straight up fight against an enemy that numbered in the hundreds. It's a damned miracle that you're not only here, but intact. Hell, Torbjorn's told me all about how you saved his ass. Good work all around.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I just wish you could keep doing that here.”

“Excuse me?” Zenyatta and Zarya asked.

Jack held up a hand. “First, let me discuss our second order of business,” he said. “Zenyatta, this is Dr. Moira O'Deorain,” he said, indicating the woman behind him. “She will be taking over your medical duties, at least for the time being. Don't worry, I can personally assure you that the men under your care will be treated with the respect they deserve.”

“Of course, Commander,” Zenyatta replied, relieved, yet a little unsure. “I was under the impression that Doctor Lacroix would have been taking over- may I ask after her? She seemed distressed, understandably so,” he said.

There was a momentary shared glance between Moira and Jack. “Officially, Doctor Lacroix's position is 'undecided', let's say. Unofficially...” Jack sighed. “That's up to her to decide. All I can do is give some advice, try to see things from her point of view, that kind of thing,” he said, with a slow 'what can you do?' shrug. “Anyway, that's for me and Angela to settle. Dr. O'Deorain?,” he asked, turning to the surgeon behind him. “Could you go see Zenyatta's patients? I'll need a status report- nothing too technical, just something I can sign off once we can get resupply back up and running. Thanks,” he said. Moira nodded, and left the room, leaving Jack to focus his attentions on Zenyatta proper. “Now, I've got a question for you: Sergeant Yancy back there, he give you any trouble while he was escorting you here?”

“What? No, not at all, Commander,” Zenyatta replied, thrown off a little by the sudden subject change. “He was a consummate professional.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Really? You kidding me?”

Zenyatta leaned back a little from the intensity of Jack's stare, only snapping out of it after a second when Zarya leaned forward, presumably to tell Jack off. Zenyatta held up a hand, and nodded slightly. “He did seem a little... tense, but after the events of the day that is to be expected,” he said.

“That's what I thought,” Jack said grimly. “See, Yancy was engaged to one of the lab techs, but Axel, well...” Jack sighed again, this time shaking his head. “Let's just say today's events hit Yancy the same way they hit Angela,” he said sadly.

Zenyatta nodded slowly while Zarya muttered a prayer in Russian. He knew how Amélie felt for Angela, and his conversation with Angela that morning told him how she felt in return. Still, it was obvious that she cared for Gerard a great deal. “Shall I speak to him?” he asked, and Jack shook his head once more.

“Zenyatta,” Jack began. “Was it just Yancy being, as you say, 'professional'? Or were there others? Please, Zenyatta- I'm not exaggerating when I say that you're literally the only person I can trust to tell me the truth about this,” he said, leaning forward.

The internal humming of Zenyatta's circuitry increased ever-so-slightly in volume as he made to answer... and stopped, because he realized what the truth would mean. He felt Zarya's hand on his shoulder, saw her shake her head slightly, and shook his own head in return. “The truth will always light the way forward, even if it is through a path we'd rather not take,” he told her gently, before turning back to Jack, and doing his best to ignore Zarya's sad sigh. “No, Commander. He wasn't the only one, I am afraid.”

Jack nodded wordlessly. He tapped a few buttons on one of the holoscreens in front of him, increasing the volume before turning it to face Zenyatta.

 **[Aftermath of omnic terrorist attacks shake the world]** the headline read, while a shocked-sounding news anchor reeled off statistics of the dead and injured. Pictures of the devastation in both Oversight HQ and Zurich were soon plastered over the screen. From his position behind the semi-transparent screen, Jack could still engage the holoscreen's tactile interface, and he tapped one picture.

**[World leaders condemn attack on civilians, global peacekeeping organization]**

More pictures. More sound bites, this time from UN headquarters in New York. Another tap on a photo.

**[Liberty Party Candidate: “We told you so!”]**

“-here to tell you the truth!” a lean, hard-faced Senator was saying, the state flag of Virginia behind him. His harsh tones seemed perfectly suited to both his speaking style and rhetoric. “Liberty Party's always said that omnics are a threat to our very humanity, didn't we? We warned you about them, these unfeeling golems coming to steal the work from your hands and the food from your mouths! They ain't like good, hard working immigrants either, the kind that made this great country what it is! Omnics. Are. Parasites! And-”

The broadcast flickered back into a static, unmoving picture as Jack tapped it once again and flipped the holoscreen back to face him. “Yeah, I can't stand that guy either,” he said. “No, wait, there's one more,” he said, turning the holoscreen back to Zenyatta.

**[Citizens fearful: Is Oversight compromised]**

A young woman was speaking into the microphone held in front of her. “I mean, I can kind of understand why Oversight would want an omnic with them,” she said hesitantly; her English was accented, but it was obviously not why she spoke slowly. “But, well... right now I think it would send the wrong message, you know? I really don't want to sound racist, but there's a lot of people around here who are still scared of omnics, and-”

“Kick the cans!” one man shouted behind her, his English less accented than hers was. “Kick the cans! Kick the cans!” The chant was taken up by nearby passers-by, and the woman ducked out of the frame with a scared look on her face. The camera turned briefly to follow her, before turning back to the growing crowd. It wasn't all that big, just around twenty or so people, but there was an international bevy of other slogans growing in volume now, German, French and Italian. Zenyatta wasn't familiar with all those languages, but he could certainly understand what they were saying.

There were several moments of silence as Jack put the holoscreen back into place. “What do I do?” Zenyatta asked. “What can I do?”

“Not much, I'm afraid,” Jack said. “I-”

“Why are you asking him what he can do?” Zarya asked angrily. “What can _you_ do? Tekharta Zenyatta is an Oversight agent, is he not?”

Zenyatta turned to calm Zarya down, so he didn't see the glare Jack gave her, or so she told him much later. “He is an Oversight agent, yes, but Oversight is not- we're not an independent organization,” he said, a little quieter to the end. “I take my orders from higher up the food chain, and right now, I have orders directly from Director Petras himself to...” His eyes clenched with the effort of forcing his next few words out. “To thank Zenyatta for his service, and dismiss him with honours.”

“Really?” Zarya asked, a little unsurely. Zenyatta had to admit, he was a little surprised himself; he didn't expect to be let go so gently.

Jack laughed. “Nope, but Petras should've been more specific than 'let him go' if that wasn't what he wanted me to do,” he said, with smug triumph, triumph that quickly morphed into sadness. “Sorry, Zenyatta. Look at it this way- this'll all blow over with the next Hollywood scandal, and when that happens- well, I've got you and Zarya on speed-dial, right?”

“I suppose so, Commander,” Zenyatta replied, resignation colouring his voice while Zarya squeezed his shoulder again; try as he might, he couldn't get the images he'd just seen out of his head. As heartening as Jack's optimism was, Zenyatta feared it was misplaced. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“I could say the same to you, Zen,” Jack replied, holding out a hand, which Zenyatta took. “Be seeing you around.”

* * * * *

As her grappling hook clicked back into place, Amélie stood up unsteadily, all of her strength gone. Behind her, the maintenance lift into Zurich's catacombs which the omnics had used as one avenue of attack clanked back into place, a squad of equally tired military personnel marching out in ragged order. Behind them, Lena gave Amélie a smile and a wave with as much cheer as she could muster; under the circumstances, it wasn't much.

They had finished one last sweep of the catacombs before the numbers of actual Swiss soldiers were enough to fully take over. It was a gruelling task made even worse by the constant vigilance, the stress of combat and of hunting in the hot, humid environment of the undercity, their tactics and thoroughness compromised by a lack of communications. Now, the tattered remnants of Oversight's forces, their uniforms and faces stained with soot, all bleeding from minor wounds, looked like they were almost ready to join the casualty lists themselves. Lena had mentioned wanting nothing more than to stagger off to her quarters and get some sleep, no matter how badly her room might have been wrecked. The way Amélie saw it, Lena had a pretty good idea, one worth-

“Excuse me? Specialist Guillard?”

Amélie turned around to see a fresh-faced man in a clean security guard's uniform snap off a salute at her- no, that wasn't fair. Now that she focused a little, she could see that the young man's uniform was merely cleaner than her own, and he was clearly just beginning to recover from the stresses of the day. In fact, he seemed to relax a little after giving the salute, the familiar movement seeming to reassure him, if only a little. “Yes, ah... Corporal Hamid?” she replied, her eyes glancing over his rank insignia and name tag.

“Sorry, Madam Specialist, but you are to meet Lieutenant Amari and Doctor Lacroix immediately,” the corporal said, Amélie's gut twisting with each syllable. “Madam Specialist?” the guard asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Amélie replied, her bitter laugh cut short. “My mind was elsewhere.” _Or at least, wishes it was._

Hamid looked at the pit she had just climbed out of. “I suppose so,” he said slowly, before focusing back on Amélie. “Specialist?”

“Lead on,” Amélie replied, after looking around and seeing she was the only Oversight field operative left in the room. Not that she would have brought Lena along, but she still felt a strange sense of betrayal at being left all alone. Their route was more circuitous than Amélie had anticipated, and her legs protested all the way. She knew she didn't really have a right to complain considering how much there was still to be done, but she still could've done with a rest. Or at least that's what she told herself. It would've been wrong to say that she knew what was coming, but she did know she would have taken any excuse to not face whatever it was.

All too soon, the guard stopped in front of Angela's office, he and Amélie walking past another group of personnel carrying large boxes, right as Lieutenant Amari stepped out of the open door. “Ma'am Lieutenant,” he said, snapping off another textbook salute, as if nothing had happened-

I have to keep this up.

I _need_ to.

Amélie blinked, not hearing the rote response Lieutenant Amari gave, nor the words she spoke to Amélie. “My apologies, Lieutenant- I did not catch what you said,” she replied quietly, shaking her fuzzy head. 

“I said I'll wait outside here,” Ana said, her tones equally quiet, but still audible despite the sounds of machinery constantly echoing in the halls. “I do my best to not listen, if you like.”

“ _Merci_ ,” Amélie replied, before turning to the guard. “And to you too.”

“You're welcome, Madam Specialist,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “Permission to leave?”

“Permission granted,” Ana said before Amélie could. “Go on, get some rest. The world will be better in the morning.”

“With respect Lieutenant, I doubt that- but thanks,” he said with heartfelt relief, before snapping off another salute, and walking away with the air of a man desperately trying to keep, not his cool, but what little sanity he had left. Ana turned back to Amélie, and pat her shoulder before leaning with her back against the wall near the door. With a deep breath, Amélie turned to step in.

The second thing that caught her eye was the state the room was in- or wasn't in. She realized that in her somewhat short time at Oversight, she hadn't actually ever entered Angela's office; Angela had always been the one to come to her. Even so, the sight of empty shelves and bare walls, the bright patches showing where pictures and various knick-knacks had hung, still struck her as unnatural and out of place. 

All that however, was secondary to what first caught her eye. A black table, empty save for a small box, taped tight. A seat mostly turned away from the door, facing a blank corner and the two equally blank walls that made it. In that seat was Angela, bent forward, holding and looking at what seemed to be a small photograph in its frame, the sort she would've placed on the table. And a single glimpse of her empty eyes...

Even in her tired state, Amélie's senses were still as sharp as ever. She could almost feel herself sitting in that seat, just as she had almost felt her own hand rising to her head as the guard saluted, felt the wind as the side of her hand rose to her forehead. But what came to mind was no simple thought, nothing that could be read in a heartbeat so she could understand. It was something too long for a sentence, short enough for a word.

_Guilt._

Amélie didn't say anything at first, instead walking over to table area behind Angela's seat and taking a seat on the ledge. Her mind was blank, and not just from the exhaustion. What could she say? What could anyone say?

“You're leaving,” she said at last. It wasn't a hard inference to make, but it sickened Amélie to say it all the same.

Angela nodded. “I am. I cannot stay here anymore,” she said with a resigned, flat calmness. “Too many memories. I think you can understand,” she said, putting the picture frame into the box, then reaching into her drawer and taking out a small portable drive from it, which she placed next to Amélie. “These are your medical records and treatment data. Any organization with access to a decent nano-fabricator should be able to make everything you need,” she said, as she reached back in and took out a roll of tape.

“You seem to think I won't be staying here,” Amélie replied softly, and Angela gave her a wan smile.

“Don't argue with me, Amélie. You want to work under Jack as much as I do,” she replied, and Amélie nodded dumbly as she watched the woman she love close up the box. She laughed a little. “You know, I had memorized an angry speech for when this moment came,” she said. “You would have tried to get me to stay, and I would have yelled at you,” she said with another short laugh, this one hitched as she held her emotions back. “I would have told you your feelings weren't real, that it was Stockholm Syndrome as you had feared, maybe improvised something else from there. Something, anything to make you hate me. But...”

“...we would have both known you were lying,” Amélie finished, tears beginning to run down the edges of her own sad smile. “Just as we both know there is nothing I can say to make you stay with me, either.” Angela simply nodded, and Amélie's hand clenched. “Where will you go?” Amélie asked, after a while.

“Zenyatta is leaving as well,” Angela said, so matter-of-factly that Amélie suspected it was rehearsed; it certainly surprised her. Angela seemed to ignore her gasp as she went on. “He will not be leaving until the airport reopens though, so I might have time to ask him if I could come as well. The Shambali monks are involved with good works all over the world.” Her smile grew slightly wider. “I would like to see what that is like.”

“Don't give me that,” Amélie replied. “Tell me- saving my life not once, but three times over, does it not matter? Saving lives in Lijiang, Dorado, even here; you do not remember that? You put your own life at risk to save others, did that not mean anything?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly with quiet fury.

A fury that Angela's tones carried. “Yes, it does!” she said. “It means I'm someone who operated on on an innocent woman to make her a weapon for Oversight! It means I... maintained her, like the weapon _I_ made her to be, and that _I_ was complicit in keeping her a weapon. It means I put on the Valkyrie suit because _I_ felt guilty, and _I_ wanted to feel better.” She shook her head. “I didn't come to Oversight to help people! I could have done that in a normal hospital. I came here... I came here to be a _hero,_ ” she said, spitting out that last word with vicious bitterness.

“But you are!” Amélie said, getting off the table, spinning Angela's chair to face her. “You are a hero-”

“And look at what it has cost me!” Angela yelled back. “Look at what it has cost you! What is has cost Gerard! _Gott im Himmel_ I wish I had never met you!” she said, her breath catching in her throat.

Amélie's eyes widened, then she gave a bitter laugh. “Weren't you listening? I said we'd both know you were lying.

“Does it even matter if you did?” Angela asked, before picking up the box of her things and walking towards the door, only to pause halfway.

“Amélie, if it had been you in Central Control,” she said softly. “With the- with the rebar through your stomach, asking me to go save others while you lay dying, I would have done as you said, Amélie,” she added, turning to Amélie. “And do you know why? It is _because_ I love you,” she said, turning to Amélie, tears running down her eyes. “It is _because_ I love you so much, that I will give up everything we would have had to do the right thing, because I would never be able to look you in the eyes otherwise,” she said. “But I could not do that with Gerard. I would have let good men and women die so I could save one man,” she said, before continuing in an even more bitter tone. “Save a marriage I didn't believe in anymore.” She shook her head again. “You brought out the best in me, Amélie, and I gave Gerard my worst. That's why I'm leaving. I'm not a hero, Amélie, and I don't deserve to be with those who are.”

She gave Amélie a wide, but sad smile. “Find someone better than me, Amélie. I doubt it would be be hard,” she said quietly. “After all you have been through, all you have suffered... it is the least the both of us deserve,” she said.

“It's not a question of who deserves what!” Amélie said, getting off the table. “I love you, Angela! Doesn't that mean anything to you?”

Angela held Amélie's gaze, silent for a moment before she responded. “It means that your enforced isolation here at Oversight has caused you to fixate on what little kindness you have received, and you have grown to rely on that small amount of emotional support enough to blow it out of proportion,” she said, colder and more clinical than Amélie had ever heard her be. “It means that I have grossly overstepped my bounds as a doctor and as a spouse in indulging my own selfish desires- just as I am now. Goodbye, Amélie.”

And then she simply turned around, and walked walked out the door. Amélie wanted to run after her, chase Angela down and pull her... somewhere. She didn't want to be here? Fine! But no matter where she went, she would have to take Amélie with her.

And yet, her legs would not move. Her strength would not come. She barely had enough to stagger over to Angela's empty seat and bury her face in her hands, barely hearing the footsteps of someone entering the room.

“Angela told me about Jack,” Ana said quietly. “About how he led Gerard around yesterday, and how he wanted him to see you too,” she added with a note of disgust. “I don't think it would be any surprise that I'm as eager to work under him as you are.” She sighed. “I can pray that Gabriel wakes up, but... if Angela could not help him, who could?”

“Ana, forgive me,” Amélie said. “But I am really not in the mood for a conversation right now.”

Ana nodded. “Of course. Then I'll get to the point: I will be returning home to Egypt tomorrow morning. The airports are closed, but the Egyptian government is willing to provide a private VTOL to bring one of its heroes back.” She shook her head in tired, mocking amusement. “Election year coming up, after all. If... if you are looking for somewhere else to go, I can help.”

Amélie didn't reply at first. “How?” she asked after a moment.

“If you're looking for a place to stay, I think I can arrange that. I know a sheikh who owes me favours, a few imams, some corporate officers,” Ana replied. “They can-”

“No favours, Ana,” Amélie interrupted, her voice quiet but firm. “Is there anything I can do?” 

_Anything where I don't have to think, where I don't have time to remember what I've lost?_

Ana nodded, seeming to understand what Amélie was asking for. “My daughter, Fareeha, works for Helix Security International,” she said. “You can work there, if you like.”

Amélie snorted. “Should I ask what a corporate security force would need with a sniper?”

“Helix is not a corporation, not really,” Ana said, walking over to sit on the table ledge in front of Amélie. “It's state-owned company, with close ties to the army- here, let me put it this way, Helix is basically a way for the Egyptian Army to get other countries and corporations to pay for its R&D. They answer to Egyptian law, both religious and secular, and the Egyptian public too. As corporate entities go, they are one of the more ethical ones out there, at least.”

Amélie nodded slowly. “Tomorrow morning, you said?”

“Very early,” Ana replied. “The VTOL will be arriving before dawn, so if you have any goodbyes to make, you should start now.”

“No need,” Amélie said, slowly getting back up. “It's... it's all right,” she lied.

* * * * *

Lena was a woman on a mission. Her eyes were narrowed, her breathing steady and strong, and she strode through the ruined halls of Oversight as if all the hounds of Hell were baying in her wake- not to tear her apart, but to serve their Mistress Oxton. She walked through areas under construction and through broken walls. Oversight personnel and construction workers who tried to stop her shrank when they saw the look in her eyes. It was a look she had ever since she stormed out of the lab that morning, unable or unwilling to heed Winston's calls for her to return, nor to look back at Angela, pale and haggard. Her chronal accelerator was still battered dirty (hence the reason she headed straight to the lab right after she woke up that morning), but like Lena, its light was steady, and blazed brightly, a beacon warning all who saw it to get out of her way.

By the time she arrived in the corridor leading to Gabriel's- no, _Jack's_ office, she was covered in dust and paint, her shoes leaving a similar trail. Anyone who'd have bothered to track Lena would have seen that she had taken the most direct route through the base from the laboratory to the office. Anyone who'd have taken note of how Lena looked as she did so would have noted that, even if the walls she had walked through had still been standing, she'd probably have walked through them anyway.

“ _Hola...?_ ” an incredulous Sombra said, a datapad in hand, as she saw the dirtied Lena march up to her. “If I knew Oversight's dress code was so relaxed, I might have skipped showering-”

“Open the doors for me,” Lena hissed, pointing at Jack's door, one of the few in the building which still had power, despite the best efforts of Torbjorn and his crew. Even then, it could not close properly, and through a small, narrow gap, snatches of conversation could be heard.

“ _-had to let him go, Director,_ ” Jack was saying. “ _It wasn't politically viable-_ ”

“Eh, I'm not sure that's such a good idea, _querida,_ ” Sombra snorted over the conversation from the office. “If I can't go in to see him, then-”

“What are you, his bloody secretary?!” Lena yelled, causing Sombra to stagger back. “Open this bloody door right now, or I swear you'll have to shoot me before I blast it open!” she said, taking out one of her machine pistols.

“ _-situation outside, sir,_ ” Jack went on. “ _I'll call you back-_ ”

“Okay, okay!” Sombra said, holding up the hand with the datapad and pointing the other at the door. Lena couldn't see what she was doing, other than wiggling her fingers a little in what looked like typing motions. “So, uh... while you're in there, could you give this to him?” she asked.

“What do you think?” Lena snapped back.

“I think you're going to give that _cabron_ a piece of your mind, yes? Well, if you're going to do that, you might as well give him the data he asked me for,” Sombra replied, before continuing in a quieter tone. “Look, if you're angry at him for the reasons I think you are, then I understand. I've worked with gangs whose members were more honourable,” she said. “Just like I hope you understand I don't want to be anywhere near him if you make him angry,” she added, handing Lena the datapad.

“You're a coward,” Lena said, glaring daggers at Sombra, but taking the datapad anyway.

“True!” Sombra replied, giving Lena a cheerful smile.”But I'm a living coward, and that's what counts. _Vaya con dios,_ ” she said quickly, essaying a quick salute as the door opened and she made a quick retreat.

“I'm really going to have to talk to Sombra later,” Jack grumbled, re-closing his door as Lena stormed in. “All right, Oxton, mind telling me what was so important I had to cut off a conversation with Director Petras to speak to you?”

“Oh, hmm, let see- first, Sombra's whatever you asked her for,” Lena snarled, tossing the datapad directly at Jack, where it slapped against his chest and onto his lap. “And second, I originally planned on tearing you a whole new arsehole, when I realized that it would be redundant since you're an arsehole all bloody over! So I'm sorry, I seem to have wasted both our times on this utterly useless journey!”

“This is about Amélie, I take it?” Jack replied calmly, placing the errant datapad on the table.

“About Amélie, and Ana, and Angela, and Zenyatta!” Lena screamed back. “Who else have you kicked out, hmm? The janitors? The cleaning woman? Who else are you including in the exit parade?”

“For your information, Miss Oxton,” Jack said in a conciliatory tone, leaning forward. “The only person I 'let go', was Zenyatta, and even that was on the Director's orders. I understand how you feel, but we can't -”

“Stop that!” Lena screamed. “Stop talking about them like you actually miss them! It's your fault they're leaving! It's your fault two of them already bloody left!” she snarled. Yeah, that's right, I said it!” she said, leaning on the table and jabbing her finger in Jack's face. “Don't bother trying to deny it either, you bastard- I overheard what Gerard told Amélie yesterday. About how you led him all over the bloody city just so you could get him to see Angela and Amélie together! What the hell?! Don't you have anything else to do with your sodding time?!”

Jack didn't reply at first. Instead, he reopened his door, then got up from his seat. “You want to hit me, hm?” Lena said, beckoning him closer. “Is that what you want? Go ahead and have a go mate, I'm right here! Come on!” she yelled as Jack peered out of his office, looking left and right. “Or are you going to run away, you stupid, sackless coward? I'm two thirds your height and a quarter your weight! Come back here and face me!” Again, Jack did not reply, instead nodding in satisfaction when he apparently saw that there wasn't anyone outside. “Don't ignore me, Jack! That's what you like, isn't it? People calling you by your name?” she screamed as Jack closed the door. “Nobody gives a toss about your rank, you cu-”

“You know, I had a feeling this would happen- though not quite this soon, I admit,” Jack said calmly as he walked back to his desk. “I'd ask how you managed to find out about what I did, but I doubt I'd get a straight answer,” he added, sitting down at his desk and sifting through the windows on his holoscreen. “Guess I'll just have to ask Sombra about that,” he added. “You know, she's turning out to be quite the asset, you know? Very useful, very tactical, you know, which is how I usually like things done. I mean, say what you like about those who've left,” he said, shrugging amiably, “but there isn't much they can do that a regular military unit cannot-”

“Take that back,” Lena hissed. “You take that back right now!”

“Why?” Jack asked, suddenly cold. “Talon has lost two snipers and two field medics, and of those four, I will only miss Zenyatta. The rest? They could have chosen to stay behind and serve the greater good, but they chose to put their own personal issues ahead of the job, the team, and their duty to others! Good men and women will die, because we will now have to spend time and resources training the backup they will need on the field! Because the specialists who would have had their backs had their precious little fee-fees hurt! Hell, I received two resignations right before I went to sleep! And you expect me to care about them? The selfish and the irresponsible? How dare you, Oxton. _How. Dare. You._ ”

“Is that what you see it like?” Lena replied, trembling. “Or are you trying to throw me over with that macho 'Oorah' act? Bugger off, Jack! I got enough of that from the 'consultants' you Yanks sent to us at Waddington!” she said, rolling her eyes the same way she did back at the airbase where she was once posted. “But if you insist on being top cock,” she said, emphasizing the last word, “let me talk to you in terms I think you'll get: 'Unit cohesion'. 'Unit morale'. Those sound familiar to you? I won't be surprised if you didn't, because we've got sod-all of both, thanks to you!”

“Only for now,” Jack replied. “I'll admit, the new situation will take some getting used to-”

“That's putting it charitably,” Lena sneered.

“-but we will get used to it,” Jack added with cold firmness. “Especially since you will be leading an unofficial, in-squad effort to restore normalcy.”

Now “I- what?!” Lena said, snorting incredulously. “First off, how? And second, what makes you think I'll do that for you? It's your job to sort this out, innit? After all, you're the Commander, or so I-”

“Acting Commander!” Jack shouted back as he rose from the desk, the unexpected force of it causing Lena to stumble back a bit. “I... I am the acting Commander,” Jack repeated, his breaths heavy as he obviously tried to control himself. “In any case...” he said, sitting back down with some effort. “In any case, you will do the first by simply being the ever cheerful, ever bubbly chipmunk that Talon Squad has come to know and respect-”

“Go to hell, Jack!”

“-and as for the second part of your question, I suggest you read this,” Jack finished, turning the holoscreen over to Lena and tapping it. Slowly, cautiously, Lena made her way to the glowing screen, giving Jack suspicious glances every other second as she did so.

[==============================================================================]

**silentknitwollyknit2047@umail.gov.uob**  
 _to me on 4 Aug 2068 at 2230/2330 (local time/GMT)_

Oh my God, thank you so much, sir! Please, you don't know how much your offer means to me! If I might make a request/If I  
may speak freely, sir (sorry, I don't know which is appropriate, I'll ask her when I get there), please don't tell her about this?  
I don't want her to be worried about me- besides, she love surprises! And sleeping in, but I think we both know that already!  
Thank you again, and I'm looking forward to working with all of you soon!

 **[One attachment:]**  
-[Resume.doc]

**silentknitwollyknit2047@umail.gov.uob**  
_from me on 4 Aug 2068 at 2200/2300 (local time/GMT) to_

>I'm very sorry that this took so long to reply! Don't worry. she's safe and sound right now, Considering the day she's had,  
>she's probably sound asleep. Also, all our computers went down but we are rebuilding v. quickly. If I may be prefectly  
>honest with you, we're in better shape than the news is showign, you know how news hounds are. That being said,  
>it”s good you e-mailed me though.  
>  
>I don't know how much she has told you abouit life here at the base, but she misses you a lot. I won't go into detail, but  
>there have been a few times after she visits you back home when she looks and act “out of it”. Common sense tell me me I  
>should of told her to shape up or ship out, but I think I am growing soft in my old age..  
>  
>Which is why I want to make this offer to you: I want you to work here, if its possible. Just send me your resume, and I will  
>do my best to find you a place here. I know this sounds strange, but I know from experience that long distance  
>relatsionships dont often do well. And maybe I am growing soft, but I think lena's too young to have her heart broken by  
>something that I can easily fix. Also from a military perspective I have to keep squad morale up, and in this case I think I  
>might need your help.  
>  
>If this is not what you want though, then please forget I ever sent you this email (but dont forget thet Lena is safe!). Thank  
>you for your time and concern.  
>  
>-Lieutenant-Commander Jack Morrison, Oversight 

**silentknitwollyknit2047@umail.gov.uob**  
_to me on 4 Aug 2068 at 1445/1545 (local time/GMT) to_

>>i hope this is the right email, if this isn't Lt. Com. Jakc Moorrison then can wwhoever got it send it to hiom or anyone who  
>>can help! MY name is Emily CHristian and I'm Lena Oxtons girlfreind,. I've been trying to call or send an email to her all  
>>day but I cannot reach her! Pleas I jhust want to know if she issafe or not!

[==============================================================================]

“No...” Lena whispered, backing away from the screen, unwilling to believe what she saw. She fell onto her knees after a few steps, though whether that was from tripping over the mess of cables still in Jack's office, or from the sinking in the pit of her stomach, she couldn't tell. “You utter, utter bastard,” she hissed, looking at Jack through tear-filled eyes.

“I've been called worse,” Jack said flatly, then his tones grew softer. “Do you think I like this, Lena? That I _like_ playing the tyrant? It's our job to take down tyrants, Lena! But... but...” he sighed. “But sometimes, it seems like I'm the only one who can see that. Everyone is so caught up in their little games, their individual lives, they forget what it means to serve, to actually put your own damn self behind the needs of others,” he said softly. “You want to know why I hauled Gerard's ass around Zurich on Saturday?” he asked quietly. “So I could spare him the pain of going through who knows how many years in a marriage with a woman who didn't love him-”

“She did,” Lena hissed back. “She did love him and Amélie both.”

“But Angela would have had to choose sooner or later, wouldn't she?” Jack countered, still in that same quiet voice. “So yes, I took steps to break it up. It may have been ugly, it may not, but what it would have been if the damned omnics an- if the damned omnics hadn't attacked, would've been _quick_. The sooner they got things over with, the sooner we'd have been able to focus on what was really important- beating the bad guys, whoever they were.”

He looked back at the holoscreen. “Same principle applies here. You're angry, I get that, and I understand. But I can't let that anger endanger our actual mission of keeping global peace. If this is the measure I have to do to ensure that,” he said, tapping the holoscreen, “then that is what I'll do. You fall in line, play nice with the rest of the team, do what you're supposed to do when you're supposed to, and of course, keep our little discussion a secret, then I'll treat Emily like any good nepotist should.” His eyes narrowed, his glare burning into Lena. “I'm sure I don't have to elaborate on what might happen if my conditions are not met. Understood? Dismissed,” he said.

Lena clenched her teeth, and her hands balled into fists- but after a moment, she let go and staggered to her feet. “You could have just hit me, you know,” a defeated Lena said, as she stood at the threshold of the door.

“Why would I do that?” Jack asked, opening it. “You'd probably just blink back with no harm done. You want to actually teach someone a lesson, you have to hit them where it actually hurts,” he said, turning the holoscreen back to him and tapping away. “Now, as I recall, I said you were dismissed.”

* * * * *

When Lena left, Jack leaned back in his chair, peering sadly down at the lines of gibberish he'd been writing while waiting for her to leave and then deleting them. He knew this was part of command, that he'd have to make many more hard decisions like this in the future. But that didn't mean he had to like doing it. Originally, he'd intended to threaten to, if not cut off, then severely reduce funding for her chronal treatments.

Oh, he wouldn't have been so heartless as to condemn the poor girl to chronal disconnection, as the accident that turned her into Tracer had, nor would he have been so impractical as to throw away such an asset. But confining the girl to a chronal stability chamber when she wasn't in the field, effectively sentencing to permanent house arrest? It wouldn't have been more expensive than her harness was, and it would have been cheaper to maintain. She owed Emily far more than she'd ever know, Jack thought.

He sifted through the Internet, pushing away the stories that he didn't want to see- not because they displeased him, but because they were redundant. Almost everywhere he looked, there were articles about omnic violence, some calm, some hysterical. But digging deeper, he saw the stories he wanted to read, that he needed to read, Information that didn't arouse his anger, but sharpened his focus.

Information about rising crime rates, about drug cartels, arms smugglers, religious fundamentalists. About corporate and individual greed, or governments taking things too far. About what was really important. The only real consequence of the Zurich attack, insofar as Jack could see, would be in hate crimes, and those were just symbolic of greater ills. He knew that he couldn't fix all of it, that he might have been a little crazy for thinking of taking on such a Sisyphean task. But if not him, then who?

Jack leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. Director Petras would be expecting him to call back, he realized. Maybe he'll shoot the old man an email; Jack wasn't much in the mood for talking. He'd also need to set up another way for him to record himself incognito; he didn't want the Shimadas getting suspicious about how long their 'master' was taking to respond. If his reappearance coincided with Oversight's recovery, they might actually realize the truth. Of course, this meant having to deceive Sombra, and Jack suspected that she might prove to be sharper than any blade Genji could wield. Then again, as a 'fellow member of the conspiracy', Jack could perhaps get a few things by her. And if he couldn't- well, there was always bribery.

He sighed again. He didn't have any problems deceiving them; as far as Jack was concerned, one cannot commit crimes against criminals. Oh, the law might have said otherwise, but what was law compared to doing the right thing? At least this way he'd be able to use their skills and talents for good, and if he did have to burn his criminal assets, he could do it without remorse. 

But Oversight agents? Necessary as his actions were, he still felt terrible for taking them, as well as the consequences. He'd lied to Lena about hating Amélie and Angela, and it was a lie he'd be proud to tell again. Better that Lena think of him as the 'bad guy' for now; once she saw what Jack was planning, she would come around one way or another. Better that she think of her friends as the good people that Jack honestly thought they were as well, no harm in that. He didn't even mind that they wanted to leave- as skilled, as brave as Angela and Amélie were, they were still civilians playing at being soldiers. Jack couldn't blame them for wanting to leave- this wasn't the life they had signed up for, after all.

Jack couldn't even hate Ana. Oh, her decision to leave still rankled, and the words she'd said to him before Zenyatta showed up- well, Jack was grateful to hear she was leaving later that night, oh yes! Now that he;d had time to think about it though? He could understand (if not approve) of her decision; she was like Gabriel, too idealistic. Not that a soldier didn't need ideals, far from it, but there were times when doing what was proper had to give way to doing what was right. Maybe she'd forgotten how things were outside of Oversight, maybe she didn't really understand. Hopefully some time on the outside would remind her of where her true loyalties should've lied- and if not, Jack would treasure what time they had working together fondly.

He took a deep breath as he stood up. Behind him was a large metal shutter; open, it would have showed the city of Zurich behind it, or at least the topmost tier of the city. Jack ran his fingertips lightly against the metal plating, his mind's eye slowly moving away from the city, towards the skies, and then beyond. Yes... yes, trying to solve all the world's ills was an impossible task, and Jack knew that he and Oversight would be dust before ever getting halfway through, but just because a noble goal was impossible didn't make it any less worth the pursuit. 

And then of course, was Gabe. Jack had the feeling that Gabe wouldn't approve of what Jack had and would have done while he was down, but that was Gabe for you. And while he might not understand at first, Jack was sure he'd be able to make Gabe understand, especially once he learned about what Jack had done to ensure his survival. One way or another he would understand.

One way or another, they would all understand why Jack would do what he had to.

“One way or another,” Jack whispered to himself. He owed it to the world to perform his duty. To make sure that Oversight and its personnel did its duty. Compared to all that, what were a few losses here and there? What were a few harsh lessons to be taught? Listening to his conscience was one thing, but he couldn't let it control him, especially when so much was at stake here. 

Looking outside, not at the Zurich that was there, but at the Zurich in his mind, the Zurich that he would make real, the world that he would make real, [Jack let himself dream of what was to come.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEc1OTFaWnI)

_To be continued in:  
**Oversight: The Reign.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was quite a ride, wasn't it? Special thanks to all those who left kudos and constructive reviews- you helped keep me going when I was convinced I was more of a hack than I thought I was! I hope you've enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it, and I hope to see you soon in the second part of this story!


End file.
